Playing With Madness
by Feather Elk
Summary: Three months after his incarceration, Will finds himself pulled back into the field for an unexpected case. Meanwhile, bored with the predictable people in his office, Dr. Lecter plans to reconnect with his favorite past patient.
1. After Dark

Outside it was calm and quiet, but inside Will's head the silence was deafening. He sat on the bed in his cell and counted the black spots that were on the ceiling, tapping the bed sheet with his fingers as he did. He counted and re-counted because he had to. Because he had to keep the thoughts away, had to keep the silence reining in his head.

Throughout his years working for the FBI, he had seen more than his share of atrocities. And he had seen and talked to the people responsible for them. But to be accused of doing something as horrific as murder was something else entirely. No one could prepare to deal with such a situation. So once the bars clicked shut on his cell and reality came crashing down on him, Will's mind went into overdrive.

It was now three months since he had been charged with murder. And these three months Will had spent them all in his head. He was surprised just how easily he moved from one mood to the next. Most days he had to deal with every fiber of his being yelling at him that he was a monster and that he didn't belong in this world. During the off days, the voices would quiet down just a little, offering him a bit of peace and silence in his mind space. It wasn't much and it never lasted long enough, but during those times he tried to get some sleep. Only to wake up screaming.

A million voices stung him, demanding answers he didn't have, questioning every decision he had taken, ever since he had met Jack Crawford. Another side of him shouted for the voice to stop blaming him because he was innocent. But he had no proof of that. The battle went on for days, Will swaying from one side to the other, not sure what to do or think. The struggle quickly took over and he felt as if he would split in half if he couldn't come to an answer.

But when no answer came, Will had to do something to keep from going mad. So he shut down. Most people fell in a comfortable numbness once they realized they were depressed. But Will had just fallen. He had fallen and he had no idea how to climb back up to normality. And until he could figure out how to accomplish such a task, he had decided to just sit in inertia.

-o-

Winter had come and gone, and the snow was slowly being replaced by rain and chilly winds. March was rumored to be a time of halcyon weather and rebirth, but Spring rarely rose to these expectations. The sky was just as cold as it was in winter, and the chilly winds made it a point to sting whenever they touched skin.

But Will enjoyed feeling the cold breeze and the occasionally dark mornings. He enjoyed them because they made him feel like he was back home on his porch, calling for his dogs to return once the evening began to creep in. He often kept his eyes closed when they were allowed in the courtyard, trying to recapture that feeling. But now he was forced to face reality, even if he knew that would accomplish nothing. He was stuck in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane no matter what he did or said or thought.

Any yet people still insisted on pestering him for interviews. He usually declined talking to anyone because he had come to be indifferent how the media portrayed him these days. And he had always refused meeting Dr. Lecter after the first time he came for a visit. But now he found that he couldn't just say no to this particular visit.

Will opened his eyes and, for the flicker of a moment, looked at Dr. Bloom. It was the first time since he had been locked up that she had requested they spoke, and Will wasn't sure why. So he said nothing, content to just stare at the canopy of trees several yards behind her. He didn't even try to gauge her emotions. He was too tired for that.

"So I heard that you stopped reading lately" she said cautiously.

It looked like they were back to tip-toeing around each other like casual acquaintances. Will wasn't surprised.

"They ran out of books that interest me" he said finally. It was a lie, but he preferred lying to explaining that he was quickly losing the motivation to do anything.

"Jack said that he could make arrangements. So that we'll be allowed to send you some proper reading material."

"That's very kind of him."

Will's eyes never left the sight behind her, waiting for whatever it was Alana was there to say. It was stupid to assume she was only there for pleasantries. Jack had sent her. Will was sure of it. As he waited for her to finally break the awkward silence that was building between them, he realized that his apathy was bordering on rudeness. This wasn't him. But then again, Will had never spent three months in a mental institution for criminals before.

"Listen, Jack asked me to talk to you."

Will just nodded absentmindedly.

"The team and him are working on a difficult case and they really need a break. The team says it's close to impossible to solve, and Jack wants your take on it."

Will frowned. He couldn't decide which part of that sentence sounded more ridiculous. "Did Jack somehow forget that he accused me of murder and got me thrown in a mental institution?"

"Will, this situation is difficult for all of us, but-"

"For all of _you_? Well I'm sorry that my incarceration is such a burden for everyone. I'm sure I can't imagine what it's like."

Alana's gaze softened and she made a move to place a hand on his shoulder. Before he was even aware of it, Will instinctively moved out of the way.

"If Jack is doing this because he wants to ease his guilt, then I want nothing to do with this case" he said.

"This isn't about guilt, Will. This is about a murderer who's already killed half a dozen people in a month and a half."

"That's irrelevant. I can't agree to this because I'm not in the right state of mind."

"That doesn't matter. Jack just wants some help, someone to point him in the right direction."

"Then why didn't Jack come here to talk to me himself?"

Alana suddenly fell quiet. For someone who studied psychology, she could sometimes be so easy to read.

"So it _is _a little bit about the guilt" Will said.

Alana took a moment to recollect herself. "You know that we're all really sorry that this happened."

"Well why wouldn't you. Seeing a colleague turn into a murderer under everyone's noses. It must be a real hit to everyone's reputation as a cop."

Alana looked uncomfortable, and sat up after a moment. "I'm sure Jack will understand why you wouldn't want to help him." She made a move to leave.

"I'm sorry" Will said suddenly, and Alana stopped in her tracks. "I shouldn't act like this when you don't deserve any of the grief."

"No, it's fine, I should just go."

"I'll think about it. Helping Jack, I mean."

A small smile appeared on her lips. "That's good. I'll let him know."

"You can also tell him that he doesn't have to hide from me. I'll be civil."

"I'm sure he doesn't think any different."

But Will knew he did. Of course he did. Jack had been the one to bring him back into the world of violent crimes and he had pushed Will to keep going even when his mind was starting to slip away from reality. And now Jack had to face the monster he had inadvertently created, and quite possibly ask him to jump down into the lion's lair yet again. Will surprised himself when he felt a bitter smile tug at the corner of his lips. Jack was many things, but a quitter he wasn't.

When Will refocused his attention back to the present, he realized Alana was long gone. And he suddenly felt annoyed with himself. This always seemed to happen to him. He was just so busy being in his own head that all manner of things and people just passed him by. And by the time he could get himself to focus again, it was already too late. The world moved too fast for him.

Will rose from the bench he had been sitting on when he felt a large shadow land on him. A large man dressed in uniform escorted him back inside the building. And as soon as he stepped foot past the threshold, Will felt the silence come over him once again.

-o-

Two days. Two days had passed since Alana's visit and the last time he had heard from the outside. Will was on edge.

He never really expected the people overseeing him to actually agree with Jack's decision of temporarily letting him out, but a small part of him still hoped. And he hated himself for that. Because Will had spent three months meticulously training his mind to block out and repress everything to do with the incident that got him in prison and everything to do with the outside world. And now Jack was quietly chipping away at his wall. Will didn't want to deal with the hope that things could change for him.

But he needed a distraction. And until (or if) the prospect of going outside again would pan out, Will returned to counting the spots on the ceiling. He had almost reached number twenty-seven when he heard footsteps closing in. He sat up in his bed and saw Dr. Vogler, the psychiatrist appointed to him, walking over with two men in uniform. The visit seemed odd to Will, since he knew their sessions were at the start of the week, and now it was Wednesday. This wasn't good.

"Mr. Graham" he said in his usual calm voice, "I've heard about the unusual request Agent Crawford has made, and I've discussed it at length with the superiors here."

Will realized that he was holding his breath.

"We understand that you'd need to be released for a while, under constant supervision, so that you could work on the field. And we've decided that we could lend the police a hand, provided that you agree to another session with me, as well as a few tests to prove that you're reasonably stable."

Wonderful, Will thought, more poking a prodding into his head, as if they hadn't already breached his mind already. Despite the resentment he had for the entire facility and Jack, Will was surprised when he heard himself quickly agree.

-o-

Dr. Vogler's office was small and cold. Not only temperature-wise but also in the manner in which he had decorated the area. Which is to say that there weren't many decorations to speak of. There was only the desk with two chairs, a bed meant for consulting the patients, and a sink tucked into a corner. No pictures. No vases with flowers. Nothing. This type of visual usually instilled Will with feelings of anxiety. The office was just too sterile.

He sat on the chair before the desk, as he had so many times before, and fixed his eyes on the pen holder. Even though he'd never admit to it, Will had developed a great dislike for Dr. Vogler. Will just couldn't stand talking to someone who handled all his cases as if they didn't matter.

"So how are you feeling?" Dr. Vogler asked, sounding somewhat bored.

After dealing with so many psychiatrists in his life, Will had come to hate that question. There was never a right answer for it, but it always came up at every single session.

But he had an answer that seemed to be satisfy most psychiatrists."Better."

"Mm-hmm" Dr. Vogler said, looking through a stack of papers in front of him. "And how's your sleep? Still fragmented by nightmares?"

"They've become fewer and farther between. I don't dream much nowadays."

That was a lie, but Will knew there was no way they could verify that. Everyone was just glad that he had stopped waking up screaming - disturbing other inmates' sleep in the process - and just assumed he was doing fine. But the nightmares were still there, sneaking into his dreams every night. What bothered Will the most was that he had gotten used to them.

"That's good" Dr. Vogler said. "I've talked about with a few colleagues and we think some socialization with people from the outside could really benefit you. And if you can actually work with the police, then all the better. The question is, do you feel ready to take such a step?"

Will had already rehearsed his answer in his head. And since this pertained to being social, he moved his fixed eyesight from the pen holder to Dr. Vogler's forehead. From a couple of feet away, that usually looked like Will was attempting eye contact. Which the doctor would vastly appreciate, given Will's aversion to such a thing.

"I think I've stabilized quite a bit since I've been here" Will said, trying to sound sincere, "definitely an improvement over how I felt when I arrived. I can focus without feeling like I'm losing myself, and I think I could work with the police on their case."

"But do you carry resentment towards the people that sent you here?"

Will dug his fingernails into his palm. "Not as much as I used to."

"I just find it hard to understand why you'd agree to help them after all that you've been through."

"Because I'm not guilty. I was framed. I'm not a murderer and if I can help them catch someone who is, then I want to do it. I want to prove I'm not the man they think I am."

Will stopped to take a breath, trying to keep from getting angry. He couldn't let the wall he had arduously built to crumble. Not now. Especially not in front of someone who was analyzing him like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Dr. Vogler smiled, taking him by surprise. "I like that you seem to have a positive attitude about this. How do you feel about working with Mr. Crawford? After all, he's the one who pulled you back into the field."

"I like to think that we can both be professional around each other and we'll be able to work together." Another rehearsed answer, but Dr. Vogler didn't seem to pick up on it.

"Nicely said. Now here's something I want you to do while you'll be out there. Every day I want you to pick one aspect of your life that you're thankful for." When Will opened his mouth to reply, Dr. Vogler raised a hand and stopped him. "Now I'm aware that your situation doesn't inspire many feelings of gratitude, but I'm sure you can find something. Even something as small as, let's say... a nice cup of coffee. Whenever you'll feel like you're slipping just latch onto that aspect and tell yourself that there are still things in this world that can bring you a little bit of stability."

Will sighed inwardly. It was never tricks that kept the monsters at bay, it was hard work and a lot of time spent building forts. But he knew that he had to agree and nod along.

"Now I'm sure you've heard that you'll have two police officers guarding you at all times" Dr. Vogler said, "and since the last time you were alone with two officers you managed to hurt them, the rules are slightly altered now. Mr. Crawford can't spare anymore men, but he instructed the two available ones to shoot on sight if you ever show signs of violent behavior. How do you feel about that?"

Will suddenly felt the old gunshot wound in his shoulder start to itch. He hated the idea of always being in someone's crosshairs, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Sounds... reasonable."

"You don't seem very convinced of what you're saying."

"Maybe the first step to believing something is saying it out loud."

Dr. Vogler smiled."That's rather admirable. But I don't want you to push yourself too much. The moment you feel strained or overwhelmed I want you to back off. Mr. Crawford isn't the one who's calling the shots anymore, all right? Just say the word and we'll pull you out of the field."

"I think I'm ready" Will said, though even he couldn't quite believe it.

-o-

Doubt came back swarming in his head that night. There was no way he could be doing this. It was insane that he was allowing himself to see those atrocities again just so he could have a small taste of freedom. He was going to crack again, but this time his outburst would be ten times as worse because of the thick walls he had placed around his mind.

But he couldn't turn back now, and a part of him needed for him to do this. Will wanted to spend one day outside the grey walls and the fenced and barbed courtyard. He wanted something normal because being stuck in a cell was driving him up the wall.

Maybe he would be allowed to see his dogs again. Just for a minute. Will pushed that thought out of his mind the moment he felt his eyes sting.

He awoke the next day mid-afternoon, after a long night of little sleep. Will rose from his bed and tried to remember if in the two hours he slept he had any nightmares. But if any nightmares had seeped into his head that night, then he couldn't remember. He could just add those to the other nightmares collecting at the back of his mind, bubbling just beneath his conscious self, and deal with them later. At this point Will was used to dealing with the monsters as they escaped from where he had tried to lock them.

A couple of men he didn't know stopped by the cell a few hours later and left a bag at his feet. They told him to get dressed because he was going to be picked up by a car in a few minutes. Will felt hazy as he inspected the contents of the bag. There were proper, normal clothes inside. A light blue shirt, a pair of pants, shoes even. After being stuck for over sixty days in a green jumpsuit, Will couldn't quite believe he was about to step into some ordinary clothes. Some boring clothes that didn't advertise that he was a prisoner.

He dressed in silence and then perched himself on the end of the bed, waiting. But his wait wouldn't be a calm one because he soon heard protests from the other inmates. They were echoy and often silenced by the guards and, at first, Will couldn't quite understand what they were yelling. But then he realized that disruption had happened because they thought Will's temporary release was unfair.

"The guy's fucking insane!" one yelled, "Didn't ya hear the way he screamed in his sleep when he was thrown in here?"

"He killed like ten people, why the hell are you people letting him go?!"

"If you're letting 'im out then you let us all outta here!"

A few others joined in, adding their own accusations to the mix. Soon enough, the entire cell block was filled by men yelling and chanting, most distorting and exaggerating what Will had done. They all reminded him that he was considered a serial killer.

The guards fruitlessly tried to get them to quiet down, but when they realized that there was no way to stop a dozen inmates from shouting, they stopped bothering at all. Will was left waiting in his cell, his eyes shut tight, feeling the strain on the walls he had created. If there was a time he needed to get out, then this was it. His prayers were answered when the cell block door opened. The inmates didn't quiet down, but Will knew his ticket out of there had arrived.

Jack Crawford stood before his cell, looking as he always did. Tired, serious, but always determined. Despite himself, Will felt incredibly relived to see him. The two only shared a nod as an officer unlocked Will's cell and escorted them outside.

"So how are you feeling, Will?" Jack asked, his tone surprisingly mellow.

"I feel fine. Not exceptionally, but my head feels clearer."

"That's good to hear."

Will wondered if this new calm Jack was his way of apologizing for pushing him too hard and causing him to crack. Will was aware of his own fault in this since he had once refused to quit, despite knowing too well about his own state of mind. But one of the reasons he had decided to keep working was that he didn't want to disappoint Jack.

And now? Now Will hated that there was still a smidgen inside him that wanted to do a good job and make Jack proud. It didn't make sense and it annoyed him. But it was there.

"I talked to Dr. Vogler this morning" Jack said as they walked through the facility. "He sounds pretty optimistic about you."

"A good psychiatrist tends to do that."

Will hoped Jack would catch his little rib aimed at Dr. Lecter. But even if he did, Jack passed right by it. He seemed hell-bent on keeping their conversation in a safe and mundane space.

"Well I talked to Vogler and the team, wondering where you should stay as we work the case."

Will frowned at that. He had assumed that he was only pulled for one day to give his impressions on a scene, not to work an entire case. But he refrained from saying anything about it.

"I don't suppose I could just go back to my house?" Will asked. "That way no one would have to pay for a hotel and I'd still have officers watching my every move there."

"Your house is too far and you'd need someone to drive you there every day. A hotel's easier."

Will nodded. It had been a long shot anyway.

They stopped before a large metal door, leading to the outside. As soon as they did, the officer that had been walking alongside them grabbed Will's wrists, pulled them behind his back, and secured them with a zip-tie.

"Sorry about this" he said, "but it's necessary."

This was because he had pulled the Houdini act and broken his thumb to escape when he was on his way to prison the first time. He could still do it now, but the difference was that the officers traveling with him had been instructed to shoot without hesitation.

They were escorted outside where another man in uniform joined them and lead them down a path to a parked car. Jack entered the driver's seat, while Will found himself crowded on the back seat, between the two officers. It didn't look like they were taking any chances with him this time.

The drive was long and boring. Will knew Jack wouldn't tell him about the case because he'd want Will to regard it all with fresh eyes. And after half an hour of nothing but road and silence, Will was struggling to keep himself calm. It's not that he was particularly claustrophobic, but being crowded by two men who were more than ready to shoot him if he made one mistake was making him frustrated.

He felt caged. Oddly enough, much more than when he was in his cell, because in his cell he at least had his own space. But there and then he was watched like a hawk. Any form of privacy had gone out the window. As long as he'd be working on the case, he wouldn't get to be alone anymore.

The officer on his right sighed and adjusted his position on the seat, unintentionally hitting Will's leg in the process. It was unknown to those in the car, but after all that had happened, Will had grown an aversion to being around people. And being forced to sit in a car with so many was grinding on his mind, in such a way that he was starting to consider telling them to turn back.

This had all been a stupid idea. He couldn't work on the case because he still hated them. He still hated Jack and his team for not believing him, and just letting him sit in that prison cell. Will realized his hands had formed into fists behind his back, and he forced himself to relax. But it was futile. Will began to fidget in his seat.

The cop on his left frowned. "You all right?"

And just like that an idea formed. "My nose is a little itchy."

The man sighed and leaned over to scratch his nose.

"Thanks, but you kind of missed it. Could I just bring my arms forward for a second? I'd still be tied up."

The officer waved his hand as if to say he didn't care, but Will noted he had reached for his firearm.

Will tucked his legs up and then brought his arms from under them, so that they were now in his lap.

And the second they were, Will threw his elbow into the cop to his left. The man yelled and instinctively covered his stomach with his arms. The other cop reacted quickly, but before he did, Will had managed to relieve the other one of his gun. And he pulled the trigger.

The car swerved wildly as soon as the first shot had been fired. The vehicle came to a stop after the second one, but before Jack could reach for his own gun, he found that Will was pointing the Glock at his head. Jack could only look at his face in the rearview mirror.

"I've waited three months to do this" Will said, almost smiling.

Will finally felt like something had been set right as he stared at Jack's shocked expression. Now he knew exactly how Will felt like after he'd been dragged down for something he hadn't done. Completely helpless. An eye for an eye, Will thought. And he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the bullet hitting bone woke him up, and Will found himself in the backseat of the car, two cops on each side, and Jack still driving.

"You fell asleep" Jack said, looking at him for a moment in the rearview. "Still having nightmares?"

"No, it's not that" Will said, maybe a bit too fast. "I was just too nervous to sleep last night."

He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hide his anxiety. It looked like the nightmares had never left him at all.


	2. Night Owls

Hannibal contained his sigh as he looked through his most recent patient's file. Jonathan Barberly bored him to death during every session they had together, and he was boring him even now as he was speaking. The man always loved to talk about his shattered marriage sometimes for hours, but for Hannibal, it was all too ordinary.

It annoyed him that for a few months now he had only ran into boring cases. OCD, depression, anxiety... he'd heard it all before and he was getting tired of listening to a gaggle of neurotic patients lament their situation over and over, as if it would never end.

And now as he was pretending to listen to Jonathan Barberly, Hannibal wondered what kind of dinner he could put together later that night. He still had some relatively fresh liver in his freezer, but he wanted something different. Maybe even something a bit more pedestrian like Baeckeoffe.

"... and I just feel like I'm lost and there's no one beside me, and I don't know what to do anymore" the patient said, small tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

"What you have to do is realize that, despite what your ex-wife has said, your family is still there for you. They still care for you."

The man sniffled. "But they look at me like I'm a loser."

"Perhaps what you think you are seeing in them is simply your own projection."

"Are you saying that _I_ think I'm a loser?"

"Your identity was broken when she left you, but people all around the world have managed to come out of this experience as stronger individuals. All you have to do is stop basing your self esteem on one past, negative incident."

The patient looked away for a moment. "I guess I never really thought of it that way..."

Hannibal let himself smile slightly. It was always so easy to warp people's minds, especially when they were vulnerable.

After the session had finished, Hannibal escorted the man outside and dispelled one last word of advice, nudging him to keep positive. He wasn't sure why he had decided to be so helpful, but maybe it was because he could recognize a mundane case when he saw it. And as soon as the door shut on his now empty office, Hannibal sighed.

Life had become too predictable lately. He sat at his desk and shuffled through the patients' files, but no disorder stood out for him. They were all too common to try and have any fun with them. Hannibal wished someone with a proper, fascinating madness would walk through his door, just as Will had so many months ago.

But wishing was for those who lacked initiative and creativity, and Hannibal knew that these two traits were certainly present in himself.

-o-

It had started to rain lightly by the time they had reached the headquarters, and the sky was dark and foreboding. Very fitting, considering the homecoming Will would most likely receive.

The team would certainly be wary of him. And as much as Will wanted to blame them for this, he couldn't. The evidence – planted as it was – objectively looked true, and the team had only done their job. And yet there was a side of him that hated Jack for not believing him. Jack knew who he was and should have at least listened to him, even if Will had little to no proof that he was innocent. Will had once thought they were friends. Now it looked like they had reverted to strangers.

As soon as he had parked the car, Jack pulled on his hat and stepped outside. Will followed him in the rain, his hands still tied behind his back. He was careful not to stumble as his glasses became pelted with raindrops. The two officers kept on his heels.

"I'm a little confused" Will said, as he reached Jack. "I can't recreate a crime scene if we're not at the actual place someone was killed."

"There's no scene, Will."

He frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"This case is a little different from what we're used to." He extended his arm towards the entrance of the building. "Let's get inside and I'll show you."

They headed inside the FBI headquarters. Walking through the halls while escorted by two cops who had restrained his hands made Will feel as if he was back in prison. But he took a breath and tried to focus on the fact that he'd have a chance to help Jack solve a case.

The cold light of the examination room fell on Special Agent Beverly Katz and Brian Zeller. They regarded him with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as they nodded their hellos.

Will was about to ask what the box with a lid on the examination table was all about, when Jack spoke first.

"Is that really necessary while we're inside?"

It took him a second to realize he was referring to the zip-tie holding his wrists. Jack was sticking up for him now? That was unusual.

"Sorry, but we were told to play it safe" one of the officers said.

"Alight, then, let's try and catch Will up to speed" Jack told the others.

"A month and a half ago a cardboard box showed up on the FBI's doorstep" Brian said, "I mean literally on our doorstep. At first we thought it was just a dumb criminal leaving us a bomb of sorts, but that's not what he found inside." He leaned over the table and popped the lid off the box.

Will got closer to take a look. Resting on the bottom of the box there was a single wilting yellow flower. "A hibiscus?"

"It's what we found on the flower that raised red flags" Beverly said, and placed two plastic evidence bags on the table. Inside the first one was a lock of hair and in the second an almost perfect square of skin. "The hair was wrapped around the flower's stem, and the skin was just sitting there at the side. Like the killer left us some kind of card."

"And after that the boxes just kept coming. At first every other week, then every few days " Brian said. He pointed behind him with his thumb, where the wall was occupied by stacked boxes of evidence. "Now we're up to number eight."

Will frowned. "Wait a minute. This guy just shows up right here? How come the cameras didn't catch anything?"

"Only the first box was delivered here, to the FBI" Jack said, "and the killer tampered with the cameras. The rest began to show up on the doorsteps of different people who work for the FBI or the police. Various Special Agents, a few trainees, and the Assistant Director. We interviewed everyone, but so far no one's seen anything."

"Then there's also this" Brian said, reaching for a folder and dropping it on the table. Inside were pictures of six random looking men and women. "A few days after the third box was sent, a pair of joggers found Tammy Greene buried in a shallow grave in the forest" he said, pointing at one picture. "The skin and hair on the first box matched her. A week after that four more people were found dead, and we were able to match them up with some of the evidence in the boxes."

Will chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought this over. "How did the victims die?"

"Various causes" Beverly said, pointing at each of them, "Timothy Menken died of an overdose, Tammy Greene was shot, Ricky Morris died of strangulation..."

"Point is that the guy doesn't exactly have a pattern" Brian said.

"He might be just finding these victims already killed, and then simply cutting their hair and skin" Will said.

Beverly frowned. "Finding five dead people in a few weeks? That'd be one hell of a coincidence."

"That's true, but what I mean is that this man seems more interested in sending us a message than he is in killing these people."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just look at the victims. They're of both genders, various ages and physical appearances." Will moved over to the table containing the photos and files.

Brian walked over and began spreading the files across the table, so that Will could look over them. "All the victims worked in different areas" Will said. "Greene was a dental hygienist, Menken was a priest, Hall stocked shelves at a supermarket, Callaghan was a waitress-"

"Yeah, like we said, we can't find any pattern in his victims" Brian said.

"Neither in his killing method" Beverly added.

"But that's just the thing" Will said, a bit enthusiastic, "the victims and killing methods not fitting any pattern _is_ the pattern."

Will noticed that Brian and Beverly looked at each other for a second and then at Jack. He could guess what they were thinking. Something along the lines of 'what was he thinking bringing someone as insane as him into the investigation?' But Jack just sat out slightly out of the way as if he was observing an experiment.

"This man isn't murdering these people because he enjoys the act of killing" Will said, his confidence wearing a bit thin. "He doesn't pick his victims based on something particular, he just takes whoever's most convenient, who's-"

"You can't seriously tell us that someone who's murdered eight people doesn't like killing" Brian said, lines creasing his brow. "This guy is sending us little boxes like they're gifts. This is a psychopath, this is a man who enjoys doing what he does."

"I agree" Beverly said, who was now actively avoiding looking at Will. "We can't ignore the evidence. The fact of the matter is that we've got eight boxes of hair and skin that prove that the guy not only likes to kill but also mutilate the bodies."

Will glanced at Jack, looking for some form of support. But there was none.

Will's eyes went back at the table. And he shook his head lightly. "I think you're wrong."

"Well I don't think you're exactly in position to say that. I mean why are we even talking to you after everything that happened?" Brian asked. "I mean, Jesus, you killed-"

"Zeller" Jack said curtly.

Brian sighed. "I'm sorry, Jack, but bringing him into this was a waste of time. The only time he was ever useful to us was when we had a crime scene, but we don't even have that right now."

"You will. In a couple of days" Will said suddenly. He stopped when he realized how that sounded. "I don't mean that I'll have anything to do with it. But I have a feeling that the killer is planning something... ostentatious for the FBI in the next few days."

The room had fallen quiet for a moment, and Will hated how ominous it was.

"Why?" Beverly asked, breaking the silence.

"This man wants to show the authorities that he can't be caught. That's why he keeps sending the boxes. He's taunting us. He's basically telling us that the reason he kills isn't for fun or need. It's because he wants to prove we're too incompetent to catch him." Will paused. "Until now he's been lying in wait, and no one's gotten on the right track yet. But he's desperate for attention. And desperate people tend to act impulsively."

Beverly frowned. "By doing something 'ostentatious'?"

Will nodded. "He wants to shock the FBI."

"You really think he'd put his life at risk for a bit of attention?" she asked, unconvinced.

"A man who believes himself smarter than the rest and craves attention will go to any length to get it."

"So all we have to do is sit here and wait?" Brian asked.

"Sooner or later he's going to make a mistake."

"The question is" Beverly said, "how many more people will have to end up dead until he does?"

-o-

On the way back outside Will found himself falling into the old habit of counting something. He was counting their footsteps, listening to the rhythmic clicking of heels, wondering what Jack had thought of the case. But, as usual, Jack's feelings were hard to guess. He looked just as solemn as he always did.

"You were pretty quiet in there" Will said tentatively. "You're never quiet."

"I wanted to see if you could handle yourself in there. Being part of the team again."

Will had never considered himself being part of the team. Not really. "And?"

"Considering what you've been through these past few months, I thought you did rather well."

Had he really received a sort of compliment from Jack? Will was stunned. "... thank you."

"That doesn't mean we're getting rid of the officers or your weekly visits with Dr. Vogler."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He let a small pause settle between them until he said, "I've been wondering something and I'm hoping you'll be able to clear it for me, Jack."

"What's that?"

"Why did you want me temporarily released? I could've easily looked over the evidence right in my cell."

"That's true. But you were never any good to the FBI behind a desk. Nor behind bars. I can't expect you to do murder reconstructions unless you're right there on the scene."

"You really have faith that I can help you with this case" Will said, not sure whether to feel grateful or pressured.

"You already have."

"Jack, I told you that I have a _feeling_ this man might leave us a crime scene in the next few days. I'm not psychic."

"No, you're not" Jack said, "but you're a profiler, and that's the next best thing."

The rest of the way they spent in silence, and Will went back to counting, hating the tension that was still there between them. But there was no way to undo what had happened three months before, and he had a feeling Jack wouldn't want to even if he had the chance.

After a short car ride, they parted. Jack headed towards a meeting, while Will was checked into a hotel along with the two officers.

The room was rather small and devoid of much furniture, but to Will it felt a million times better than his cell. He was surprised by how quickly the two cops made themselves at home, as they settled on the sofa and turned on the TV. Will was just glad that they had decided to stay behind as he went into the bathroom.

His own reflection startled him when he spotted the mirror above the sink. Will hadn't even been aware of how much he had avoided mirrors since his incarceration. Now he looked pale, tired, and there were circles under his eyes. He was surprised that Dr. Vogler hadn't said anything all this time. Will wondered when it had been the last time he had smiled. He stopped for a moment to think, but he couldn't remember.

After a shower and a call from Jack asking if he had found the room satisfactory, Will settled on his bed and fell into thought. One of the officers had went downstairs for some lunch, and Will realized an entire day had passed him since he'd eaten at all. Dr. Vogler would have told him that it's a sign of depression, and he'd be right. You can't be stuck in a mental institution and be charged with murder and not expect to take it personally.

Will peered at the remaining officer in the room from the corner of his eye. It would have been easy for Will to just leap from his bed and knock him out cold with the lamp next to the sofa. But he didn't. He just sat on his bed and watched whatever was on TV, even if his mind was a million miles away.

The evening came and went, but the night slowed to a crawl, just as it did back when he had been in his cell. Will sat on his bed with his eyes closed, hoping that to the wake officer it would look like he was asleep. It irked him to know that there was always someone watching him, even if the cop was just doing his job. The fact that Will couldn't just get out of bed and wander when insomnia hit was making his skin crawl.

He suddenly heard a sigh, and a series of footsteps. Then the bathroom door opening and closing. Will snapped his eyes open and peered around. The other officer was asleep on the sofa, snoring lightly. Before he was even ware of it, Will pushed the blanket aside and got out of bed silently. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do until he cautiously walked over to the sleeping man and saw there was a wallet sitting on the table by the sofa. He quickly opened it and fished out a driver's license. The name read Albert Connelly, forty-six years old. Behind the license was a picture of a woman and a little girl. Family, most like it.

Will wondered why he was snooping around when he could have just asked the man about his life. It hadn't been that long, but it looked like in the three months he had been away, Will had become even more suspicious and antisocial than before. Or maybe there was some plan brewing at the back of his head, and he just didn't want to admit it. The officer also had a Glock strapped to his belt, and Will couldn't deny that it looked tantalizing just sitting there, unguarded. His right hand began to shake as he reached for it.

The sound of a flushing toilet brought Will back to the present, and he placed the wallet back where he had found it, and then hurried to slip back into bed.

But sleep passed him by, as it always did when he had one too many things buzzing in his mind. And Will was left staring at the walls, listening to the ticking of the clock.


	3. Wall of Apathy

Even though he was used to it, Hannibal still found it uncomfortable to hold the phone between his shoulder and ear as he was preparing dinner. But his curiosity had been piqued, and he couldn't simply hang up on Alana Bloom. That would have been rude.

"And you say Jack Crawford sent you to talk to Will?"

"I didn't really want to do it at first, but he talked me into it." He could hear her sighing. "This whole situation is really bizarre."

"Understandable" Hannibal said, as he used his knife to cut around the arteries still holding the heart to the body. "How is he dealing with his confinement?"

"I didn't talk to him too long, but he's showing signs of depression. Not that I blame him. He's basically sitting in there doing the same things day in and day out."

Hannibal thought it was curious that he also seemed to be doing the same things every day. Had he fallen into a boring routine? He gave a tug and pulled the heart out, and then settled it onto the kitchen counter.

"Do you think he's ready to work with the FBI again?" he asked.

"His psychiatrist seems to think so, but I wouldn't be so sure."

"Then you could ask Jack to keep an eye on him."

"I'd rather keep my distance" she said "I think Jack's still a little upset with me since I wasn't one hundred percent truthful with him last time."

"That's a shame. Keep me updated should things change, would you?"

"Of course."

Once she hung up, Hannibal looked at his bloody hands and muddled kitchen counter. Dinner could sometimes be really messy business.

A mild wish for someone to join him for the dinner he was preparing materialized itself in a corner of his mind, but it soon passed. Hannibal knew that what he really wanted was another chance to analyze Will's brain after what he had gone through. A part of his wished he could simply send a letter, but the times of the hand-written letter were gone, he was sad to say.

He'd have to come up with a different tactic of sending a message.

-o-

A reddish morning light seeped into the hotel room, and Will used an arm to shield his equally red eyes. He didn't have to angle his head to know that the clock on the wall read 6AM.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" a voice said.

Will stood up and peered through the painful light. He saw the officer who had fallen asleep next to his wallet the night before, Connelly . He was tall and sickly skinny, and his beard was already graying. Will also noticed that the man was holding a styrofoam cup of coffee, his arm extended towards him.

"It's for you" Connelly said.

Will reluctantly took the cup. "Thank you." He looked around the empty room. "Where's...?"

"Rodriguez? He's down in the lobby or something. Said he's not doing his job until he gets a proper English breakfast." Connelly sighed. "That's new blood for ya. Always think they're hot-shots just because they have a badge and a gun."

Will wondered what that was like. To feel empowered by the presence of the gun instead of being overwhelmed by doubt and anxiety.

"So this new case you're working with Mr. Crawford" Connelly said, "you making any progress?"

Will wasn't sure how to answer that. "It's hard to say."

"Oh. Well, that's a shame. I know this is gonna sound kind of selfish, but I was hoping you'd be able to help 'em out real quick, so I could go back to my boring filing job. Nothing quite like having a peaceful work life behind a desk."

"I can sympathize" Will said softly, somewhat missing his teaching job. He was also a bit taken aback by how nice the officer was treating him. Especially since Will was certain Jack had briefed him on exactly what they thought he had done.

"Y'know, I might be stepping outta line here, but the first time I saw you I said to Rodriguez 'now here's someone who looks like he'd belong in a library' or something." After seeing Will's confused expression he added, "You just don't really strike me as a serial killer kind of guy."

"Well I'm really not" Will said. He tried to block out the reminder that the first time he'd met Connelly , his mind had already formulated a few ways to kill him. And now here he was being nice and polite. It was bugging him that he couldn't figure out why. "You're an awful less judging than the other cops."

"Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle" Connelly said, remembering the quote. "I don't know who said it, but I read it on a beer can once. For some reason it stuck with me, just like that hangover the next morning."

Something about how polite Connelly was didn't sit right with Will. Why would someone like him go to any trouble chatting to a known serial killer? He couldn't help but wonder if Jack had really sent him. It could have very well been someone else. Someone who was still determined to screw with his head, even after all this time. Will could almost hear Jack telling him that he was paranoid again.

A phone ringing tore Will away from his train of thought.

"Oh, that's mine" the cop said, as he went over to the cell phone that was resting on the table. "Officer Connelly " he said into the phone. "Yep, he's right here." He handed the phone to Will.

"Hello?" he asked, apprehensive.

"Will, it's me" Beverly said. She sounded tired. "I was thinking about what you said about the killer, how he's sending us a message. So I started looking up all the flowers he gave us, and what their meanings are."

"What did you find?"

"At first there was no pattern, as usual, but then I looked over the victims. The flower that was sent with each victim's hair and skin made no sense symbolically. But it does if you pair it up with the next victim." She paused. "This guy really is trying to send us a message."

"You mean other than the taunt aimed at the FBI for not catching him?"

Beverly shuffled through some papers on the other line. "I think he's trying to give us clues on what his next victim is. I mean look, the first flower we ever received was a Queen Anne's Lace, and the DNA from the box matched Tammy Greene, the dental hygienist. But the flower symbolizes a haven and sanctuary. And that doesn't match Greene at all. But it does match Timothy Menken, the priest. Our second victim."

Will rubbed his forehead in frustration. "The killer always wants to stay one step ahead of us."

"And so far he has."

"What's the last flower you received?"

"A yellow carnation."

Will thought for a moment. "Carnations are typically used as symbols for fraternities and sororities."

"That's right. And the one he sent us was yellow, which stands for disdain, rejection and disappointment."

A small pause settled between them.

"We're going to find a dead college freshman soon, aren't we?" Beverly asked.

"That seems most likely."

"And there's not much we can do about it except warn the surrounding colleges. Not that we could warn them against something specific." She sighed in frustration.

Will chewed his lower lip. "Maybe I can talk to the people in the FBI that got the boxes. Find a pattern."

"We already did that and found nothing. But if you think it'll help, sure. Brian's not going to like it, though" she added as an afterthought.

"It's understandable" Will mumbled.

"Anyway, I'll go talk to Jack and round up the people."

"Thanks." He paused. "And thanks for working with me. I really appreciate it."

"Well we need to stick together to get to the bottom of this. I'll let you know what happens."

Will was back at the FBI headquarters by mid-afternoon. He met Jack there and discussed the various individuals the killer had picked to send the boxes of DNA. But that's where they hit a wall. It looked like most of them were either apprehensive or flat out refused to be subjected to yet another interview about the case.

"We have to face facts here, Will" Jack said, walking along him down the corridors, "some people will always be wary of talking to you. No matter how focused or guiltless you seem."

Will wanted to protest that he didn't just look guiltless, but he knew that would accomplish nothing.

"I'm glad your theory is helping things move along" Jack said.

"Unfortunately all we've got so far is a small clue regarding our next victim. Besides, it's still just a theory. If it doesn't pan out-"

"You can still help us even then."

Will tried to block out the sound of other footsteps that was coming from the other cops keeping tabs on him. Apparently, Jack took note.

"Something eating at you, Will?"

"It's just that... I don't know. I can't wrap my head around the fact that you're being so understanding about this whole thing. I'm persona non grata around here, and here you are backing me up."

"I'm just trying to safe a few lives and catch whoever is doing this. That's all it is."

Jack's last words hit Will a bit harder than he would have cared to admit. It's not that he was expecting a heartfelt speech from him, but Will had always thought that between them there was a level of mutual respect and understanding that couldn't be broken by anything. But it looked like it had been broken the moment Jack had officially told Will he was under arrest.

And just like that, walking the cold corridors of the FBI headquarters, Will suddenly felt very alone. He'd always felt like he was just a little bit on the outs wherever he went, but at the end of the day Will had a way to de-stress simply by being at home.

"I know I'm not exactly in position to say this" Will told Jack, "but if you're willing to hear me out, I'd like to make a small request."

Jack raised an eyebrow slightly, curious. "I'm listening."

-o-

The canopy of trees swooped by in a haze under the impending sunset. Will stared at them out the car window, not exactly sure how he felt. Truth be told, he was rather nervous. But also immensely grateful that Jack allowed him to be taken to see his dogs.

Will had to admit he had once had his doubts, but Alana had honored her promise of watching them over. He shifted in his seat as he thought about how their meeting outside the prison would go. Even if they had spoken a few days before, Will was tense because now he wouldn't be able to hide behind his usual mask. He couldn't pretend to hold resentment towards Jack or the team because they were working with him, and he couldn't be mad at her either because, after all, she was still taking care of his dogs. No matter how therapeutic it had been for Will to hide behind walls of apathy, he wouldn't be able to do that now.

He just hoped that the two officers escorting him would step out of the way and let him have some time with the dogs without feeling like he had two sets of eyes burning the back of his head.

Once the car stopped, Will stepped outside and felt a smile forming on his lips. He could hear excited barking from inside Alana's house. The door soon opened and a flurry of wagging tails ran towards him. Before he knew it, Will was crouching on the ground, hugging the smallest of the dogs while the others fought for his attention. And for a split moment, Will wasn't worried about anything because nothing else mattered. He felt like he was back home. But the second ended and he was back in the real world

Will raised his eyes to see Alana, leaning by the door. She seemed a bit taken aback by the two officers standing behind Will, but she quickly snapped out of it and ushered them inside. The dogs also followed, still barking and whining for attention. Will was grateful that Alana offered Connelly and his partner tea and lead them to the living room, while he stayed behind in the kitchen. The officers still had a perfect view of where he was and what he was doing, but it suddenly didn't matter.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Will was alone in a room. Just him and his dogs. He sat besides them on the floor and mumbled about everything and nothing, just happy to be able to see them again.

Winston seemed a bit uneasy around him, however. Will wasn't sure why, but he spent the new few minutes trying to calm him down.

"He's still a bit twitchy after this morning" Alana said from behind him. She went over to sit at the kitchen table. "Winston, I mean. He caught flees so I had to wash him today. I didn't think a dog could ever look so heartbroken at seeing a filled bathtub."

Will ruffled the fur on Winston's head. "Well he's always been a bit more nervous than the rest." He paused to look to his side, out into the living room, where the two officers were watching television.

"I told them I'd be okay if they stayed out there. Watching the same person day after day can get a bit monotonous for them."

Will turned his attention back to the dogs. "I thought for sure you'd open by asking how I'm feeling."

"Well, I'm not your doctor."

Will wondered what she was. A friend? Some sort of old colleague? Somehow, no label he came up with seemed to fit.

"But are you okay?" she asked. "I mean relatively speaking."

"I'm... dealing."

"Anymore nightmares?"

Will grimaced. "I thought you weren't my doctor."

"I'm not. I'm asking as a concerned friend."

Will thought for a moment as he got off the floor and moved over the table Alana was at. As soon as he took a seat, one of the dogs jumped on his lap "The nightmares are still there. But I've figured out a way to manage them."

Alana frowned. "What way?"

"I build walls around them until I know they're locked up tight and they can't touch me." Until the next nightmare surfaces, Will omitted to say.

There was a pause in the conversation, and even though he wasn't looking at her, he knew Alana was studying his face. "You haven't told your doctor about this, have you?"

"I just... I can't. How can I? He already thinks that I can't come back from this. How can I tell him that on top of everything else, I can't sleep? I just can't."

"People like Dr. Vogler are trained to listen to anything you have to say to them. You can talk to him, Will"

"You don't know, Alana... Every time I walk into a room with someone, I can see it in their eyes. They look at me like I'm a cockroach who doesn't have a right to breathe the same air as them. You don't know what it's like to see someone looking at you, thinking that you're insane."

"You're not insane, Will."

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Jack doesn't believe my side of the story" he said. "I tried to talk to him, but he just thinks I'm paranoid or delusional." Will paused. "I'm a little scared to ask what you think."

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"It does to me."

Alana took a few moments to gather her thoughts. "I think that you believe what you're saying and you're not just saying it because you want to push the blame on someone else."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"Will, if you're asking me to believe that Hannibal was the one who set you up, then I just... I don't think I can."

He went back to petting the dog in his lap and then stared out the window.

"You have no proof, Will" she added, tentatively.

"What if I _can_ prove it?" he heard himself say softly.

Alana frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Will let the dog jump off his lap, and then moved to a chair closer to Alana. He lowered his voice. "I don't have anything right now because I didn't have the chance to do my own investigation. But if you'll let me—"

"Do what? Sneak into Hannibal's house and try to find something that you think is suspicious? He's my friend, Will, and despite what you might think, I know what kind of a person he is. And he's not a killer."

Will rubbed his forehead. "Look, I've already lost almost everyone's credibility. Most of them can't even look at me right now. But I always thought you could see through someone's exterior. That's why you _have_ to believe me. Please. Just try. Just a little bit."

Alana just looked at him with for a moment. She then narrowed her eyes, and her head began to shake. "I think you should go."

Will was taken aback by her reaction. He paused, realizing what had to have gone through her mind. "This isn't me trying to manipulate you because of what happened with us all those months ago."

But she didn't look so convinced.

"If there's any way to prove that I'm talking honesty right now, I'll gladly do it."

Alana pressed her lips together for a moment. "Then just go back to helping the FBI. Don't try to stir up trouble, Will. It's not like you."

"Exactly, it's not like me. I wouldn't do something like this unless I was desperate to prove my innocence." When he saw that she remained silent he added, "I think I'll be able to prove it. I just need someone to help me."

She sighed softly. "How?"

"I need to remember all that time I lost. All those times I suddenly woke up in a place I couldn't remember getting to. Right now all I have are bits and pieces that are hazy."

"And what can I do about that?"

"I think maybe hypnosis could help me."

"You once told me that you didn't believe in hypnotherapy. That it's just a state of heightened suggestibility induced by the therapist."

"But you'd be the one guiding me. And I trust you."

She still looked uncertain. "There's still the problem of false memories. You know there's nothing exact about this technique, Will."

"All I want is to start remembering again. I can worry about piecing things together and making sense later."

A moment of silence that seemed to last too long followed, and it made Will nervous.

"I need to think about it" she said finally. "It's been some time since someone's asked me to be subjected to hypnotherapy."

Will nodded. "Well thank you. For considering it."

"Jack would never agree to this, you know."

"Well, he's the one who let me come here in the first place."

"That's because you have two officers with you" Alana said, gesturing towards the living room. "In Jack's mind this is a just a visit to soothe your nerves. But if he found out about what you're thinking, he'd put a stop to all this and send you back behind bars."

Will swallowed, nervous. "I'm aware."

"And you still want to do this?"

There was no doubt in his mind. He nodded.

"Okay. And I'm not saying yes yet, I still need to think this over." Alana stood from her seat and went over to look through a cupboard. When she came back, she placed a small orange bottle in his hands.

Will frowned at it. "Sleeping pills?"

"Despite what you tell everyone I know you're still having trouble sleeping. And if you're going to help the FBI, you need a level head."

Will kept his eyes on the bottle, as if it was alien. He had been so used to taking pills only in front of nurses or doctors, as was the custom with all criminally insane prisoners. "You're sure about this?"

"It's doctor recommended" she said, trying to smile.


	4. Butterfly

Will found himself dreading the darkening of the sky. Because whenever night fell, his insomnia appeared to taunt him. He was back in the hotel, sitting wide-eyed in his bed, while listening to Connelly sleeping soundly while Officer Rodriguez was reading a book by the lamp on the table.

If he wouldn't be able to go to sleep, then tomorrow would be his second day of no rest. The human mind would stop working properly after only four, after which the hallucinations would start. And seeing things that weren't real was exactly what Will didn't need to deal with at that moment. His thoughts moved to the small bottle of pills in his pocket, and he wondered if he should sneak into the bathroom and take a few.

The sound of a phone ringing startled Will, and he sat up in his bed as the officer answered.

"You're sure about this?" Will heard him ask whoever was on the other line. "All right, then. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes." And he hung up.

"What's going on?" Will asked.

"Agent Crawford wants us at a scene. There's been a murder."

-o-

The city was traditionally quiet during the early hours of the morning. But Will felt the crime scene almost scream at him the moment he walked into the apartment.

He had stopped a few feet beyond the threshold to collect himself when Jack walked over to him.

"It looks like you were right" he said, gesturing at the scene. Will could only look at it from the corner of his eye.

A young woman was pinned to the living room wall, several steel rods brutally piercing her skin in her shoulders, chest, and knees. The blood running from her wounds had seeped into the carpet below, making the room smell sickening. The victim's mouth was half open, making her look as if she was about to talk, as if she still had the spark of life in her. But what creeped out Will the most was the fact that her eyes were open, staring. He knew it was ridiculous to think, but he swore that they were staring right at him. Judging.

"We're looking at Christy Haverly, age twenty-one" Jack went on, "college student."

"She was part of a sorority, wasn't she?" Will said, still staring at the ground. "Just like the flower hinted."

Jack nodded. "There's a square piece of skin missing from her ankle, the same size as the others we've been getting in the boxes."

"How did she die?" Will asked. He knew it couldn't be from the steel rods in her body. Her screams would have caused too much noise.

Jack gestured at the marks around her neck. "Asphyxiation."

In the flurry of moving people Will spotted Jimmy Price busying himself. "The killer wouldn't strangle her himself" Will said. "You won't find any fingerprints on her, Jack."

"We're still hoping the other part of your theory will hold true. Logically, it should just a matter of time until the killer won't be able to juggle so many things, and he makes a mistake."

"Let's hope so."

Jack arched an eyebrow at Will's continuous attempt at not looking at the crime scene directly. Or anyone else, for that matter. "Do you think you're up for it? Doing the murder reconstruction."

Will wasn't sure. Without much sleep he was basically running on empty. But this was the defining moment when he could prove he was still an asset to the FBI, that he wasn't the insane man everyone assumed he was. Despite what every fiber of his being was telling him, he couldn't just turn around and walk away.

Will took a deep breath. "I'll need everyone out, just like all those other times."

"All right" Jack yelled out towards the team, "I want everyone to clear the zone for a few minutes! Now!" He turned to Will one last time. "Good luck." And then he left the scene.

Will kept his eyes on the floor for a few more minutes as he wrestled with his inner voice. He could do this. He'd done so many times before, after all. Cautiously, he raised his eyes and let them land on Christy Haverly. Will took a few steps closer when he realized he hadn't moved from his spot next to the front door. With each step, he heard the crime scene yell louder and louder to him. He could see now the dark purple marks around her neck, and her torn fingernails. Will purposely avoided looking at her wide eyes that seemed to study him, rather than the other way around.

He tried focusing on the smaller details, trying to prepare his mind for the recreation. Will then took a breath, shut his eyes, and... nothing. He frowned, but gave it another try. The same silence followed.

Something was wrong. A sudden realization dawned on Will, one that sent his hands shaking. He had always been able to empathize on a level that transcended most people's reach, but what pushed this ability forward had to have been his illness. But now that he was taking medication for his encephalitis, the symptoms were gone. And it seemed like, along with them, his ability had also disappeared.

This was bad. It was wrong. Will struggled to control the shaking of his hands and, in the process, took a few steps around the scene, trying to calm himself.

An alarm bell sounded in his head the moment he stepped onto the blood-soaked carpet. But instead of panic, Will felt something else. Something clicked in his head, as if a connection had been made, and his eyes instantly closed. The pendulum swung.

The blood began to run upwards, leaving the floor clean. As Will stepped backwards, he could see as, one by one, the rods of steel flew out of her body, and the victim fell gracelessly to the floor. She almost looked like she was peacefully sleeping, lying on the ground.

But the next moment her eyes snapped open, and her mouth gaped in a silent scream. Will next saw himself over her body, using his knees to keep her from moving. He quickly slipped a rope around her neck as if he'd done it many times before. He looped it twice, looking at the terror in her wide eyes. And then pulled as hard as he could. The young woman thrashed and scratched at him with her fingernails, her eyes locked on his face. But something about her movements was off. She moved slowly and hazy, as if she was half asleep.

The woman tried to cough, but all Will could hear was muffled choking, as the light slowly left her eyes.

"Jesus, what're you doing?!"

Will was ripped away from the scene and he stumbled backward. Beside him was a tall agent who looked very much upset.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, who had just walked over.

"He's contaminated the scene!"

Though still dazed, Will realized the agent was referring to him. He then noticed his left shoe had a blood stain from when he had accidentally stepped onto the carpet.

"Is this your idea of help, Agent Crawford?" the man asked. "So far all he's done is stop our investigation just so he could sit around like an idiot and play around in his head."

"We'll talk about this later when we're not going against time" Jack said, dismissing the agent. "All right, everyone get back to work!" He then walked over to Will who still looked spooked. "What did you see? What message is this guy sending us?"

Will wasn't sure what to say. He was still trying to get the image of the woman's judging eyes out of his head.

"The image is obviously religious, if you ask me" Agent Zeller said, who had walked up to them. "I mean just look at her. She's basically crucified."

"It's not religious" Will said, happy to have regained his voice again.

"Why not?" Jack asked.

"The killer wanted to send us a beautiful tableau, that's why he suffocated her. That's why he cut off the skin from her ankle. He wanted to do as little damage to her body as possible, so he could later place her on the wall. Just like a butterfly with its wings pinned back."

"But he doesn't care about his victims, so why would he go to such lengths?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know."

Brian frowned. "Well, did you see anything else?"

"I think she'd been drugged. Long before he suffocated her."

"Probably to try and keep her as quiet as possible" Brian offered.

"It also means our killer has a way to acquire drugs" Jack said, "Timothy Menken and two other victims died of either an overdose or had drugs in their system when we found them."

"You think our guy works for a pharmacy?"

"Or he knows people who do."

Will shook his head. "Our killer is a loner. He wouldn't have many, if any, friends. Least of all someone who would let him acquire drugs without a prescription."

"So then we're looking for a drug store employee or someone who works in a hospital. Someone who has access to a variety of drugs" Brian said. "That narrows it down."

"But not too much" Jack added. "We need to keep digging."

-o-

After a few more hours investigating the scene turned out fruitless, the team headed back to the headquarters to examine the body much closer. Will was surprised by how glad he felt when Jack had said he was free to go back to the hotel.

As much as he wanted to help them, he preferred that he didn't have to look at the mangled body and wide eyes of Christy Haverly. Which is why he was actually grateful to find himself back in the cramped hotel room with the two officers. Once Connelly announced that he would go out for a bit for some early breakfast, Will went into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

He walked inside and was careful to shut the door behind him. And as soon as he did, Will froze. The window by the sink had been opened, and now it gently moved in the wind. And on the windowsill there were a dozen dead butterflies.

The killer had been in his hotel room. Somehow, he must have overheard him talking to Jack about how the victim pinned to the wall reminded him of a butterfly, and now the man was... what? Out for revenge? Sending _him_ a message? Will suddenly realized what he was seeing didn't make sense.

The killer basked in the attention he was receiving from the FBI and he loved it, so why would he go out of his way to try and scare _him_? Will wasn't FBI. He was a nobody to this man. It made no sense that he would risk getting caught on the hotel's cameras just so he could leave a cryptic message to someone that didn't matter. It just didn't match his profile.

No, it couldn't have been the killer. Someone else would have done this. Someone who would love going out of their way just to screw with Will's mind. A sudden flash of pain ran through Will's head, and he struggled to keep focus.

It had to be him. It just had to. He was still in touch with the FBI, especially Jack. And after waiting for months and months, he finally had a chance to send him a message, knowing that if Will would try and pin it on him, it wouldn't stick. No one would believe Will. And for good reason.

Before he was even aware of it, Will moved over to the windowsill and scooped up the dead butterflies in his hands. And then he dropped them in the toilet and flushed. He reminded himself that he didn't have to deal with this. His message was gone and if another one came, he'd just get rid of that one as well.

Hannibal Lecter could poke and prod from afar all he wanted, but he wouldn't be able to get to him this time.

-o-

The next day passed in a painfully slow fashion. No one from the FBI contacted him, so Will was forced to stay in the hotel room alongside the officers. Oddly enough, the two seemed perfectly content to just watch television all day.

But no matter how hard he tried, Will found that he couldn't focus on anything else other than the million thoughts swirling through his head. Maybe he had been wrong in considering Dr. Lecter to be the one behind the dead butterflies. But if it had been the killer, then Will had just gotten rid of potentially important evidence. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupidly impulsive the night before.

As the evening wore on, Will's anxiety rose. A sudden need for clarity was taking over him, and there was little he could do about it. He desperately wanted to know who had sent him the message the day before, but there was no way he could do that. Not unless he would spontaneously remember all those times he had lost his memory. Not unless he could remember something that could incriminate Dr. Lecter.

He spent the next hours pretending to join the officers watching television. But there was a plan formulating on the back burner. Will wasn't particularly proud nor happy with it, but he knew he had to follow it because desperation was starting to dig his claws in him.

That night, Officer Connelly had chosen to keep watch over him, and Will was glad about the coincidence. The other officer didn't seem to like him much, but Connelly had proven polite enough.

"I saw a little bit of what you were doing at that crime scene" Connelly said, drinking from a mug of coffee. "It was just crazy the way you just stood there motionless for like two minutes an then you snapped out of it with answers. Crazy stuff."

Will just nodded, not sure whether that was a compliment or not. His eyes trailed over to Officer Rodriguez, who was fast asleep on the sofa. The man had no way of knowing that the cup of tea he had drank before going to bed had something extra in it.

"I guess I'm taking first watch tonight again" Connelly said. "Young cops these days crash faster than toddlers." He sighed. "Anyway, thanks for keeping me company." He took another sip of coffee.

"Don't mention it" Will said, looking away instinctively.

He felt guilty. He knew it was vile to go around slipping crushed up sleeping pills in their drinks, especially when the two officers had been nothing but nice to him. But Will was running out of time and he was running out of options.

-o-

This was risky. This was incredibly, deeply risky. Will tried not to think too much about the various scenarios that could take place while he was driving Officer Connelly's car. But the risk of being caught by someone was real, and he'd have no viable excuse for what he was doing.

He was a convicted serial killer who was driving a car he had stolen from a cop who had been drugged mere minutes before. And to make things worse, Will was about to involve one more person in this madness.

After a drive that seemed to last too long for his nerves, Will finally arrived in front of the house. Almost as soon as he stopped the car, he heard alarmed barking coming from inside the house. He couldn't blame his dogs for making such a ruckus, especially when he had just appeared in the dead of night. He walked up to the door and knocked.

It took a while, but soon enough the door opened. A confused looking Alana answered. It looked like she had been asleep. "Will, what's going on? Did something happen?"

He stepped past her inside the house. "Is anyone else here with you?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Is there anyone else here? Cops, friends, I don't know, anyone."

"No. Why?" She was about to shut the door behind him in order to keep the dogs inside when she stopped herself. "Will, where are the two officers who were supposed to watch you?"

"I need you to help me."

"Will."

He rubbed his forehead, nervously. "I had to come here without them knowing." He paused, feeling the burn of shame. "I used the sleeping pills you gave me."

Will expected her to react in a lot of ways, but in not one scenario did he think she'd ask: "How many?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. "Enough to keep them knocked out until morning."

Alana looked towards the door, as if expecting someone to burst through it at any moment. "So I'm harboring a fugitive now."

Will frowned. "What? No, I'm not a fugitive. I'm going back tonight. I just need you to help me first. I need you to help me remember."

Realization suddenly struck her. "Jesus, you drugged those officers just so you could come here to be hypnotized?"

"Someone left me a present this morning" Will said, "Someone snuck into the hotel and left about a dozen dead butterflies in the bathroom."

"And you think it's the killer."

Will looked away. "No."

"We're not doing this again, Will, all right? You can't put everything on Hannibal. It's not good for the state you're in right now. No matter how hard you wish it, you just won't be able to make it true." She paused and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry, but I'm not helping you. Go back to the hotel."

She then leaned towards the door to open it, but Will stuck out his hand and caught her arm. "You're the last person who's still willing to listen, Alana. The last one. You still have an ounce of faith in me. If I don't do this, if I don't find out what happened all those times I blacked out, then I'll never be able to let this go. I'll be haunted for the rest of my life. Please help me. _Please_."

The moment that followed seemed to stretch out longer than normal. Will could see Alana weighing her options, not sure whether one way or the other was right. She eventually expelled a line of air and looked at the wall behind him, avoiding his eyes.

"Okay" she said, her voice unsure, "I'll try and help you."

She guided him towards the living room and told him to sit on the sofa. She then sat on an armchair, facing him.

"I told you it's been a while since I've done this" she said, "so I'm not sure if it'll work the way I want it to. The important part here is for you not to actively oppose me. If you do, then the hypnosis won't work at all."

Will just nodded.

"I know you don't have too much time to waste here, so I need you to pick a specific moment you want to remember."

There was no doubt in Will's mind what he wanted to recall first. "The day before I woke up with... with the blood under my fingernails and the muddy feet." And with Abigail's ear in his stomach, he wanted to mention, but found that he couldn't.

"Okay. Now, as difficult as it may seem right now, I want you to try and relax."

Will felt a smile tugging at his lips. There he was, wrongly accused of murder, running from the police and breaking the rules. And he was supposed to relax.

One of the dogs suddenly jumped next to him onto the sofa and placed his head on Will's lap, waiting for attention. Maybe he could try and relax after all.

"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?" Alana asked.

"I don't know. Days just sort of jumble together lately. The line between them tends to blur."

"All right, I want you to close your eyes and listen to me. Can you do that?" she asked. Will obliged. "I need you to empty your head, try and move everything away from the field of your focus. Right now you should feel the tension leaving you like steam dispelling in the air. You can feel a heavy relaxed feeling overcoming you, starting from your chest and moving to your arms and legs." She paused for a moment. "I want you to count backwards from one hundred in your head, all right? Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight, ninety-seven..."

Despite the stress he was under, Will found himself quickly mystified by Alana's voice. He had told her once that he enjoyed listening to her read, and now he felt as if they were back in that hospital room.

"I want you to go back to the day you took Abigail to Minnesota" she said.

He was surprised just how easy it was for him to access that part of his memories. In an instant, he saw himself back in the plane, next to Abigail. It was weird seeing her again, after all that had happened. For a moment, he was scared to look at her, worried that what would stare back at him would be a pair of cold, dead eyes.

Through the fog and haze of the memory, Will heard a voice. "Will? Where are you?"

"I'm on a plane with Abigail" he said, anchoring himself to the voice. "We're headed for her father's cabin." He felt a smile coming on, but it wasn't one of happiness. "She says she would've wanted to climb Eagle Mountain next week with her mom."

"What happens then?"

A quick flash of images ran through his head, showing both him and Abigail reaching Minnesota and then finding the cabin. The presence of the antlers still sent shivers down his spine as they walked around. He then saw Abigail's worried face, and remembered the argument he had with her.

"Abigail's scared of me" Will heard himself saying. "She thinks I'm crazy. She doesn't trust me."

"Why?"

"I accused her of working alongside her father. I basically called her an accomplice."

Another pause from Alana. And then, softer, "Did you try to harm her?"

He frowned deeply and shook his head. "No. I could never do that to Abigail."

"What happens next?"

More flashes of images, this time too fast for Will to catch them. He struggled to focus, but there was no use.

"Will, what do you see?"

"I'm on a plane to get back home. It's... it's just me. I can't see Abigail."

"Why? Where is she?"

He dug his fingernails into the cushion underneath him, straining to remember. "I don't know. All I remember is getting into a cab and going back home."

"Let's skip ahead a bit" Alana said. "You arrive back home, and it's late in the night. What happens after that?"

"I let the dogs out for a bit, and then I..." His brow furrowed as he struggled to conjure up the images. "I... I just—I don't know. I can't remember... It's all a blank." He shook his head. "Why can't I remember? What's happening to me?"

He heard Alana say something, but it was hazy and he felt as if she was speaking to him from above a great distance. She was probably trying to get him to return back to the present. But if she was, then Will wasn't actively aware of it.

When his eyes finally snapped open, Alana was looking at him with worry.

"Why can't I remember?" he asked.

"It's possible your illness repressed the memory too much and it's to far gone for you to access it."

He thought for a moment. "Is there any other possibility?"

She paused for a second, unsure if she should say anything. "You could have been drugged. That can distort the way you access memories to the point that they're unreachable."

A few pieces began to fall into place for Will. If he had been drugged, then it would have been really easy for someone to walk around his house and plant evidence. But he didn't want to mention any of this to Alana.

"I'm sorry" she said, "but it's hard to know for sure what's going on unless we bring in someone with more experience. And even then we could still have unanswered questions."

"In any case" he said, sitting off the sofa, "thank you for trying."

He felt guilty for roping her into the whole bizarre situation, but if he could get some answers along the way, then it would prove worth it. Will went back to the front door, petting his dogs on the way, and wondering if he would see them again soon. His instinct was pessimistic about it.

After a short goodbye, he returned to the car and drove off. It was still early in the night, much too early for the sleeping pills to stop having affect. Will didn't go back to the hotel room.


	5. Closer

Sometime during his drive, Will wondered if he truly was mad. He was risking a lot as it was, and now he was parking the car a few blocks away from Hannibal Lecter's house.

Will wasn't sure what he expected to find, or if he would find anything at all, but there was a nudging feeling at the back of his head that wouldn't leave him alone until he did this. After exiting the car and making sure it couldn't be spotted too easily, he walked the rest of the way.

He was armed with nothing but a half-bottle of sleeping pills and determination. But no lock picking kit, and that meant he would have a hard time sneaking inside the house. Will regarded the house once he reached it, noting that all the lights were out. At least his luck hadn't run out yet.

Will wondered if he would have a better chance of breaking into his office, but even if he did, it would prove to be a waste of time. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't keep any kind of evidence in his office. He'd keep it locked up tight and hidden somewhere at home. Or maybe he was brave enough to hide it in plain sight.

He circled around the house, keeping low and quiet as he searched for a viable way in. He stopped suddenly in front of the living room window, blinking several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The window was slightly ajar. Just as it had been in the hotel room.

This could be a trap, or just something Hannibal had done to mess with Will's head, he thought. But if it was, then how did he know that Will would attempt to sneak off and visit him? Will felt both stupid and curious as he stood in the cold night, considering his options.

In the end, he knew he couldn't back out. If there was even the sliver of a chance that he could find something incriminating, then he knew he had to do this himself.

He effortlessly slipped inside the house. The room was dark and quiet, but Will had already gotten used to the darkness and could relatively see well enough without stumbling about. As expected, the living room was organized and well decorated, almost infuriatingly so. It annoyed him to think that this wasn't just a front, but exactly how Hannibal lived. Always organized, always precise.

Will plucked a tissue from a box he found on a table and used it to safely open drawers without leaving any fingerprints. When he found nothing but books and files irrelevant to his situation, he headed deeper inside the house.

The kitchen was also clean and well structured. Not even a dirty dish inside the sink. He went over to the cabinets and opened a few, hoping something would look peculiar. But he could find nothing out of the ordinary. All he could see were all manner of dishes and cutlery. Will was about to give up and move on when something caught his eye. Inside a drawer filled with wrapping paper, he saw a little black device tucked at the back. A recorder.

He had spotted other recorders in the living room but they were all labeled with initials and filed in a specific order. But this one he had kept hidden. Like a personal little project. Without hesitation, Will slipped it in his pocket.

The rest of the cabinets and drawers had proven uninteresting, so Will took a step back. Even though he doubted anything would come of it, he decided to check inside the freezer.

But the sound of incoming footsteps stopped his train of thought. Will searched for the windows, but it proved too late. The kitchen light was switched on.

Hannibal stood in the doorway.

-o-

Time seemed to fluctuate somewhere between agonizing slow and screeching halt, and the only thing that passed between them was the sound of the light rain that had started outside. They were both sitting in the living room, Will noticing that their positions mirrored the ones they always adopted in Hannibal's office.

Except that now there was complete silence. Will didn't know what to say, so he said nothing at all. There were several thoughts buzzing his head, some of them nudging him to make a run for it. After all, the door was only a few feet away. But he stayed still.

"Alana mentioned that two policemen were assigned to keep watch of you at the hotel" Hannibal finally said, breaking the silence.

"They're still there."

"And they let you leave?"

"No. I drugged them" Will said, surprised by how apathetic he sounded.

"Will, that doesn't sound like the action of a man who is in control."

He wanted to laugh. "We're really doing this again? You, sitting there, putting your hooks in my head and tugging every time you want to make me dance..."

"You can't pass your problems onto other people, Will"

"You think that's why I'm here?"

"If you aren't, then I'm afraid it's a little too late in the night for me to start preparing dinner."

Will tried looking at him, searching for a reaction. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Seeing me miserable and struggling with every day. I always thought it was weird seeing you so inscrutable all the time. I thought that maybe that's just how you were. But now I understand that you're enjoying seeing things fall apart."

"Will, you're overanalyzing things."

"You told me once that you consider us friends, that you were more concerned over my well-being than the people that could die if I couldn't solve a case."

Hannibal nodded once. "That's true."

"But you never really helped me. And I never stopped calling you _Dr_. Lecter. We were never really friends, were we? It was all fake."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. But it's also hard for me to think that we were friends after you threatened me with a gun. And now you break into my home."

"You know why I had to do this" Will said, still trying to sound confident.

"You still think I had something to do with your accusations."

"I just need some answers."

"Whatever answers you're searching for, Will, I'm afraid you won't find them here."

Will hoped the recorder in his pocket would prove otherwise. "Sorry for sounding like we're in middle school" he said after a while, "but are you going to tell on me?"

"About you being here tonight?" Hannibal thought for a second. "No."

Will knew he should have sounded grateful, but he couldn't. "Right. Why would you, when you relish the thought of seeing me stumble in the dark. I'm like a toy that keeps spinning out of control." He shook his head, frustrated. "I must look like such an idiot to you."

Hannibal leaned forward, a grave expression painted on his face. "On the contrary. I find you positively fascinating."

"Because you think I'm crazy."

"Your madness isn't unique, but the manner in which you fight and struggle to deny its existence is."

"So if I'm that fascinating to you, then why did you do this to me? You know I didn't kill anyone."

"You holding a gun to my head made me think otherwise. The same with the ear we found in your sink, the blood under your fingernails and-"

Will abruptly stood. "Stop trying to convince me that I'm guilty. You don't get access to my head anymore."

"I'm not trying anything, Will. These are facts."

Will shook his head, resigned that there was no way he could win. "They'll send me right back to prison after this case. You know that. Once I'm back there no one will listen to me anymore. No one will believe me." He rubbed his head, exhausted. "I just need to know one thing. Only one thing. I think I deserve that much." He waited for a moment, but could gauge no reaction from Hannibal. "Why would a renowned psychiatrist need to kill people?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you are talking about."

"Let's say it's a hypothetical, then. Why would someone like you need to kill people?"

"You say _need_. Like there's no choice in the matter. As if this need surpasses any kindness or reason the person might possess."

Will shook his head. "This isn't about me."

"I never said it was. You're projecting."

"I'm not projecting! I'm just- I'm just tired." He sat back down in the chair and buried his head in his hands. "I don't think I've ever been this tired in my life."

"It's all right" Hannibal said, walking towards him. "If there were no guards at your room, I would tell you to rest here tonight. You're too stressed." He placed a reassuring hand on Will's arm.

"Don't touch me" Will said, recoiling.

"I don't mean you any harm, Will You know that."

"No... no, you need to stay away from me."

"You're the one who came to my house."

"I can't— I can't be here anymore."

He stood off his seat and wanted to head for the door, but his vision was now swarming with dots. Was it stress? The lack of sleep? Will didn't know anymore. He placed a hand on the wall beside him to steady himself.

"Will, just take it easy" he heard Hannibal from beside him.

"Please get out of my head..."

But it was too late for that. Will knew that Hannibal's reach had extended far already, the roots buried deep into the utmost darkest corners of his mind. He'd been fighting it and he'd continue to fight it, but to what end? Could he ever win?

Before he was even aware of it, Will broke into a run. All he could register were flashing lights and dull colors passing him by, but he kept running because he couldn't be near him anymore. When he was able to focus again, he realized that Hannibal's house was long behind him, and the car he had driven in was a few feet away. Will risked a look behind him, but he was alone in the street.

Good. At least his bad luck had reached its quota for the night, he hoped. Will got into the car and drove off as fast as he could.

He wanted to check what was on the recorder, but his hands were shaking, and he had to focus on the driving. It could wait for a while longer. Even though he didn't have a watch, Will knew that no more than a few hours could have passed since he had left the hotel room. Maybe there was time for one more stop.

-o-

It was strange how quickly he relaxed once he saw the familiar sight of trees framing the street to his left and right. Maybe that's what Will had needed all along. Some peace and quiet, to stay where he belonged. Back home.

His drive was silent and rather lonely, but after a few twist and turns, he was pulling up into the driveway. The sky was dark, as it always was in Wolf Trap, and he hard time finding his way around. Will strained to see, but it was pitch black everywhere he looked. And he suddenly felt as if something had to be wrong. He took step after step, carefully listening around him.

He soon realized that the foreboding feeling he was having came from a muffled series of sounds he couldn't quite pin-point. All he knew is that they were coming from the direction of his house. And as soon as he reached the deck, he realized what it was. The sounds of smoldering wood.

Despite what he was seeing, the realization took a second to form itself in his head. But it was right there in front of him. He was standing in front of the remains of his house. Someone had burned it down, leaving nothing but a blackened husk of a building.

And despite all he had gone through those past few months, this is what sent him over the edge. Not his dogs being taken away, or even being wrongly accused. It was the thought of someone destroying the last anchor he still had in this world.

And now it was gone.

Will was lightheaded, and his vision soon became blurry. Despite the anger he was feeling, it looked like his mind was shutting down for good. And in that moment, he decided that maybe it wouldn't be that bad to just stop fighting. The line of his vision slanted, and he felt himself fall. But the peculiar thing he couldn't wrap his mind around was why he could swear he was seeing a person with a hollowed out chest and antlers running somewhere in the distance.

He landed on something soft.

Will opened his eyes to the inside of the hotel room where, according to the clock on the wall, he had been asleep for half an hour. He moved his head to the side and saw that the two officers were still knocked out.

He sighed in relief, glad that seeing his house gone was just a nightmare. He just hoped that the entire night hadn't been a dream. Will stood up in his bed and checked the pocket of his jacket. The recorder was still there. He then quickly slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. After locking the door behind him, he climbed into the bathtub, the furthest point away from the room. And he listened to the recorder.

Will frowned as soon as he heard his own voice speaking. It only took him a few seconds to realize that he was listening to one of his old sessions with Dr. Lecter. He fast-forwarded through and stopped at yet another session. The more he searched, the more he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The bastard had recorded every single session they had ever had together.

But maybe this discovery could aid him. It wasn't exactly evidence against Hannibal's apparent innocence, but the recorder was proof that he had been unprofessional and broke the doctor-patient confidentiality. Will hoped that maybe this was enough to get Alana to listen to him.

Will knew that keeping the recorder on him was a bad idea if the officers would ever get suspicious and feel the need to search him. So he looked around the bathroom for a hiding spot. The sound of a ringing phone echoed from beyond the room. Wonderful, Will thought. He quickly slid the recorder under the cabinet beneath the sink, and hoped that would do.

Back in the room, the two officers began to stir at the sound of the phone, and Will made his way to the bed.

Connelly was the first to rise from the sofa where he had fallen asleep. He was dazed and his movements were slow. "What?" he said into the receiver, sounding annoyed. "Okay, sure, hold on." He got up from and handed the phone to Will.

Jack was on the other line. "We've run into some trouble" he said. "Over a dozen people working for the police received calls warning them that they're about to get a "gift" in a few hours."

"What can I do to help?"

"Not much. But we're rather short on staff right now so we need as many people as possible at various sights, waiting for this guy or his friends to show up. I'll need to make use of Officers Connelly and Rodriguez, which means you're also coming along."

"I can help you, Jack."

"Sorry, but you'll have to stay inside while we work. We can't risk getting you shot."

"There's an easy solution for that, I just need-"

"We're not giving you a gun, Will."

He sighed in frustration. It had been a long shot anyway. "We'll be right there."

After a short drive, during which Will prayed that the officers wouldn't notice that the fuel gauge had moved, they reached a large neighborhood.

Despite the fact that the entire area looked peaceful and rather empty, Will knew that it had to be swarming with cops. They were just hiding and hoping that whoever had given the calls would still be stupid enough to actually show up.

The tension and anticipation in the air was almost palpable.

As per Jack's instructions, the three parked out of view, and then went inside one of the houses. When they reached the living room, Will saw Jack busy talking to a man dressed in casual clothing but with his badge and gun in view. The owner of the house, most likely. There were other officers roaming about.

"I hate to say it, but you were right when you said he'd make a mistake soon" someone said, and Will turned around to see Brian Zeller. "Warning three houses that are side-by-side and can be guarded easier? This guy's an idiot."

"He's overconfident" Will said.

"I don't see how that's any different."

"Wouldn't that make you stupid as well, oh king of modesty?" Beverly chimed in from his right.

"Hey, it's not bragging if it's true."

"No one believes you managed to shoot that target from four hundred yards away."

"I told you, I had a good sniper rifle."

"People" Jack said, stepping in, "we need level heads right now, so less chit-chat and more profiling."

"What is there to profile?" Beverly asked. "It's unlikely that the people who called the houses are responsible for the murders. That doesn't tell us a lot about our guy."

"It does tell us one thing" Brian said. "If he's got people helping him make calls at roughly the same time to multiple houses, it's safe to say that he's got friends. He's not a loner like Will predicted."

Will frowned, realizing that Brian made a lot of sense. Will had been wrong before - it was human nature- but something about this man having friends didn't sit well with him. Something was off about the whole thing.

The three investigators went on their way once they had been assigned different parts of the neighborhood to keep watch on. Jack was about to leave as well when he noticed something about the officers that were always watching Will.

"Are you alright, Officer Rodriguez?" Jack asked. Will noticed that the man was looking tired and his face was white and covered in perspiration.

"Nothing serious, Agent Crawford. Must've gotten too little sleep or something" he mumbled.

"We'll need to make use of your partner for this, so keep your wits about you."

Will knew that Jack was warning him against being left alone with someone as potentially dangerous as himself. So he stood behind as most of the agents went about their business, securing the various houses in the neighborhood.

A few minutes later, Will saw Officer Rodriguez go pale. He was pacing the room anxiously and covering his face with his hands. And then he abruptly ran towards the bathroom by the kitchen, looking sick. It seemed like Will had slipped a one too many sleeping pills in his tea.

Will instinctively followed, stopping in front of the bathroom door. He could hear sounds of retching from inside. He leaned on a wall and waited, feeling responsible and guilt-stricken. Jack would surely find out that the officer had strayed from his job and then he would get in trouble. Will wished he could promise that this would be the last time he'd drag someone down with him. But he was alone against a world that refused to believe him. All he could do was try and dig his way out of the mess he was now living in.

As he waited, Will noticed that Officer Rodriguez had detached his gun holster and left it on a chair next to the bathroom. The Glock was still nestled inside.

A shadow fell over him, and Will frowned, wondering where it was coming from. His eyes fell on the windows of the kitchen. There was movement going on in the back yard, obscuring the light coming from the street lamp. Will moved instinctively to take a closer look. His heart stopped when he saw a skinny figure leaving something on the porch, and then dashing away.

Will stopped himself from taking after him, realizing that he wasn't an agent fit to capture a killer. But there was no time to search and find someone who was. Will just ran back to the hallway leading to the bathroom, and grabbed the gun holster. He didn't look back as he burst through the door into the back yard.

The slim man was nondescript clothing and a cap, but Will could tell that he wasn't used to running. He was already out of breath and he had barely started. The man went off the main road and dashed into the greenery across the street. Despite the darkness, Will had no problem keeping him in his sight.

After a few minutes of chasing, the suspect exited the greenery and ran by the side of the street. Will had gotten close enough to be able to be heard. He unholstered the Glock and aimed it ahead. He announced that he was armed and ready to shoot for his shoulder, causing the suspect to stop a few seconds later, out of breath.

"Turn around slowly" Will said, the gun not wavering.

The suspect faced him. And recognition appeared on his face as soon as did. "Hey... I know you. You're that guy from the TV. The crazy serial killer who ate the Hobbs girl."

"Hands behind your head."

"What, they let insane killers work a gun now?"

"Last warning. Hands behind your head. Now."

To Will's surprise, the man complied. But the arrogant expression never left his face. "You know, he mentioned you might show up."

Will stopped in his tracks, confused. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" The man smiled, knowing. "You can't seriously believe a scrawny guy like me killed all those people, do you?"

"I'll let the FBI choose what they want to believe." Will kept his gun trained as he took a few steps towards the man. But something broke his concentration.

The sound of a vehicle dashing through the streets approached them quickly. And in the blink of an eye, the car had arrived a few feet away from them. Before Will could even react, the car door opened. And the suspect jumped on the back seat.

Reflexes kicked in as Will shot a warning. But whoever was driving stepped on it and the car began to screech away. Another fire and the rear window cracked and shattered. They were getting away, second by second, and Will knew he couldn't let that happen. He kept firing shots after shots, hoping to knick the driver's shoulder, or break the windshield. Anything to get them to stop.

But the car was too far gone. Before it disappeared into the darkness, Will saw something that made his heart stop. The last gunshot had hit the suspect in the back of the head. He quickly fell to the side, completely motionless.

Will's mind was instantly flooded by images of a kitchen stained by blood and the cold, dead eyes of Garret Jacob Hobbs.

"No, no, no" he whispered. He couldn't have done it. Not again. But his eyes couldn't have been lying. Will had just killed someone. He blinked a few times and shook his head, as if the motion would snap him into another reality. Then it dawned on him that he could just be dreaming again.

"Wake up" Will he said to himself. He used his left hand to rub the side of his head. "Wake up, damnit!"

"Will."

He spun around and aimed the gun where he had heard the voice coming from. He narrowed his eyes when he saw who it was. "Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal emerged from the shadows. "Put the gun down, please."

But the Glock stayed where it was, even if his hands were shaking. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you after you fled my home the way you did."

"You followed me?"

"I thought maybe you had fallen ill again."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Will. I saw you shoot that man dead."

Will felt his heart beating faster. "He's not dead. You saw wrong."

"Please put the gun down" Hannibal repeated.

"You're going to do it again, aren't you? You're going to throw me under the bus for what you think I did."

"I promise I will tell no one what I just saw." A pause, and then, "If you agree to let me help you cope with all this."

Will frowned. "You're blackmailing me?"

"I want to help you, but I can't do that unless you let me."

"No" he said simply, "No, I'm not letting you crawl inside my head again. I already have a psychiatrist who does that."

"Who you dislike tremendously."

Alarm appeared on his face. "Who told you that?"

"This isn't the time for that conversation, Will."

Several footfalls were coming their way, and Will realized that the FBI must have heard the gunshots. Meanwhile, Hannibal was still standing nearby, looking at him, expectant. Expecting what, exactly? Will quickly threw the holster in the greenery, and then hid the gun in his jacket.

Jack arrived at the scene a few moments later, followed by three agents.

"What happened?" He frowned as he noticed Will wasn't alone. "Dr. Lecter?"

"I heard from one of your officers that you required as much help as you could handle" Hannibal said calmly, "so I came over to assist."

Will couldn't believe how easy it was for him to lie. He had no facial tics or unusual movements as he spoke. No sweating. Nothing. Either he was a really skilled liar, or something else entirely.

"Well thank you, doctor" Jack said, "but there's little a psychiatrist can do at the scene right now." He then turned to Will. His trademark unapproving father tone appeared. "What did you just do?"

Will's eyes flickered for only a second on Hannibal, worried that he'd spill everything. When he didn't, Will cleared his throat. "I saw a man dropping a box in the back yard before running away. I chased him, but then a car drove by and he got away."

"And what about those?" Jack asked, gesturing at the shell casings on the street. "We heard gunshots."

"He was just trying to warn me. The guy wasn't a good shot."

"Well they sure scared the hell out of everyone" Jack said, looking more and more annoyed. "I thought I told you to stay inside."

"I _was_ inside, but when you see a possible suspect dropping by the house you can't just sit and do nothing."

"You're right, you should've told one of us instead." He shook his head. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to run after him like this. How did you even expect to take him down?"

"It's not the first time I had to defend myself without a gun."

"No, the first time that happened you got shot on the job, so this isn't really helping your case here. You're being reckless and that's not what we need right now. Now the cops are pissed that you interfered. You'll need to give an official statement on what happened out here tonight."

"If I might interject" Hannibal said, "perhaps it would be best for Will's state of mind if that would be postponed until tomorrow morning. Details tend to become more vivid after a proper night of REM sleep."

"With all respect, Dr. Lecter, Will already has as psychiatrist who keeps track of his wellbeing."

"Very well" Hannibal said, looking perfectly content to back off. Will couldn't shake how suspicious that rang in his head.

The scene was soon swarmed by other officers and agents, all taking care not to disturb the shell casings on the road. Will could tell they were angry. And most of it was directed at him.

"Let's get going" Jack said after a while. He gave a few more orders to the people around, trying to keep things under control, and then he guided Will inside a police car. "I'm staying here to see what we can find on the box, but you'll be taken to the station so they can take your statement. They'll probably take you back to the hotel after that." Will was about to ask who was supposed to keep watch of him that night, but thought it better to keep quiet. "Just talk to the police and tell them what happened, and then get back to your room for some sleep" Jack continued. "And for the love of god, don't do anything else stupid."

And with that, he slammed the car door closed. Once Jack distanced himself, Will searched around the inside of the car as inconspicuously as he could, trying to think of a way of getting rid of the gun in his possession. But there was nowhere he could hide it without the driver noticing.

The car started and pulled out of the driveway. Will spotted Hannibal breaking away from the crowd of police officers and FBI agents. And as he walked into the pitch black darkness, away from the street lamps, Will couldn't help but remember the nightmare he had with his burned down house and the humanoid stag calmly walking away.


	6. Minute

Hannibal was disappointed. He would have enjoyed getting a glimpse of the man who was teasing the police and doing such a good job at keeping the attention off those like him, who indulged in activities that were frowned upon.

But now he was forced to leave without much of interest having happened. The thought that he now held one of Will's secrets was an appealing prospect, but he still wasn't sure that this would be enough to force him into resuming his therapy. Jack certainly wouldn't approve of this.

Luckily, Jack had been plenty verbose that evening, and among scolds regarding his own safety in front of someone who had once tried to shoot him, Hannibal had also obtained something interesting. The name of Will's psychiatrist at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

He checked his watch, noting that it was 3AM. Much too late for a visit. But it was never too late to prepare for one.

-o-

As the car drove into the cold night, Will ironed out the last of the details regarding his statement. He knew they'd be apprehensive and quite possibly suspicious around him, so he took a few seconds to breathe deeply and keep himself in control.

His right hand was slightly shaking, and Will balled it into a fist, struggling to keep it steady. He kept getting flashed of the back of the car and the man who had fallen over, motionless. Because of him. But this wasn't the time for feeling guilty. Not now when he was about to be escorted inside the police station and he knew he had a gun in his jacket. The metal detectors by the doors would instantly go off.

He could always drop the gun inside the car, but that would raise the risk of someone finding it. And the officer who was driving him kept his eyes on him via the rearview mirror. Will decided to spend a few moments studying him. He noticed that the man had a tendency to frown deeply whenever the road swerved abruptly to the right. The officer placed all his attention on the road when that happened. So Will focused on studying his eyes, and tried to move as discreetly as possible when the next moment would arise.

When the officer looked away, Will casually removed his jacket and placed it on the seat next to him. He tried to wrap it up slightly, making sure that the gun wouldn't slip out from inside. His heart was beating a million miles a minute, but at least now he wouldn't set off any alarms at the station.

The vehicle pulled into the police station driveway a few minutes later.

Will was beginning to realize why Jack had been seemingly so understanding when he had been pulled back into the field. As he walked into the station, Will passed by face after face of annoyed and angry looking policemen and women. It seemed like everyone knew who he was. He was a social pariah. Will suddenly felt ten times more nervous about being stuck inside a building full of cops who supposedly had a built-in radar for detecting lies or even half truths.

He was escorted into an interrogation room but not before being reassured by an angry looking detective that this was only routine and that he shouldn't worry.

Will was seated on one end of the table in an uncomfortable chair. He wondered if that was deliberate.

"Mr. Graham" the detective said, sitting down in front of him, "you've got quite the reputation around here."

"I've noticed."

"You wouldn't think that someone as squirrely looking as you would turn out to be a criminal, but I guess you never know, do you?"

Will cleared his throat slightly and tried to sound somewhat confident. "I was told I had to come here to give a statement."

"Right. You can just go ahead and tell us what happened from the moment you got at the scene."

"I was at the Officer McKenzie's house along with the rest of the team."

"And the two officers appointed to you were also there?"

"Yes."

"And what exactly were your orders from Agent Crawford?"

Will pressed his lips together for a second. "To stay out of the way."

"You'd think that would be a simple enough instruction to follow" the detective said, loud enough for Will to hear. "So. Agent Crawford and the team then go on with their business and you do what exactly?"

"I was by the kitchen window when I saw a suspicious man leaving a box in the back yard, then fleeing the scene. So I followed."

The detective frowned. "You followed a potential killer without backup or any weapon whatsoever?"

"Yes."

The man paused for a second. "You know, I'm having a hard time understanding exactly why you'd stick your neck out like that for the FBI. I'm thinking that, maybe... oh, I don't know, you just wanted to run off but you blew it and were caught?"

"If I wanted to run away, I would have done it a long time ago."

"Still makes no sense why you'd want to help Jack Crawford. Not unless you're hoping for a chance to catch and kill this murderer yourself."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Are accusations part of this standard procedure?"

The detective threw his palms up in a 'fair enough' gesture. "So you're chasing this guy..."

"I yelled for him to stop, and he did. But then he revealed that he had a gun."

"Judging by your current state, it's safe to say he didn't shoot you."

"That's right."

"And you don't find that suspicious?"

"He knew who I was, he recognized me from the news. Maybe he thought I was on their side, given my... reputation."

"But he still unloaded his gun."

"Yes. Only warning shots."

"How many?"

Will flashed back to the shots he had fired himself. He tried to make his discomfort look like he was trying to think. "I don't remember."

"You have quite the history of memory problems, don't you, Mr. Graham?"

"That's all in the past." He thought for a moment. "I think I saw roughly have a dozen casings on the ground."

"Awful nice criminal, huh? Firing all those warning shots."

"The man wasn't the killer. I'm pretty sure he wasn't even a criminal."

"Now why don't we let the thinking to the people with the actual badges?"

"The guy told me himself that he works for the killer."

The detective tried to look innocent. "Now why would a _criminal_ lie about something like that?"

"Our killer is a narcissist. He loves the attention he's getting from these murders and would rather do something drastic than let someone else the credit for his crimes."

The detective sighed, visibly annoyed. "Look, you can do your little jumping-to-conclusions trick whenever you're with the likes of Jack Crawford, but around here? We believe in facts. And so far the facts state that you met the potential killer and he refused to shoot you. Now, he either did that because you're working with him... or you're lying." The man took a deep breath, and then fixed his stare on Will. "Now I'm going to ask you one more time: what _really_ happened out there tonight?"

Will found himself getting angry. He surprised himself when he even resorted to making eye contact for a brief moment.

"What happened out there" he began "is that I put myself on the line in order to catch someone that's eluded you for months, so much that you had to ask the FBI for help. I was out there for only a few minutes but I managed to get closer to the suspect than anyone else ever could. And I didn't do it because I wanted to kill this man myself or because I have something to do with the crimes. It's because _I pay attention_."

The detective leaned back in his chair. If he was impressed, then he was making an effort not to show it. "You really think you're clever, huh?"

Will smiled bitterly. "If I did, I wouldn't be in this situation, now, would I?"

After half an hour of endless and repetitive questions, the detectives had come to the conclusion that there was nothing else they could learn about what had taken place that night. And Will was ushered outside, a bit more forceful than was necessary.

When he was back inside the car and on his way to the hotel, Will took care to casually feel around for the gun inside the jacket he had left on the back seat. Luckily, it was still there.

He took a breath of relief and tried to get his head to clear. Everything was getting really messy now. Things had escalated a bit too unexpectedly for him lately. He had drugged two officers, stolen Hannibal's recorder after breaking inside his home, lied about what happened at a scene, and now he had a stolen gun in his possession. This was getting too out of hand.

He had also most likely killed a potential suspect. But whenever that speck of thought entered his mind, Will immediately pushed it away. He couldn't afford to think about it because, the last time he did, he simply couldn't cope with it. So he safely pushed it away and built a wall in front of it. One that would last.

Will had to go back to the reason this entire madness had started, and that was because he needed to prove his innocence. But since no one was willing to investigate what skeletons were hiding in Hannibal's closet, Will would have to do it on his own. And the only way to do that was by getting close.

Hannibal had showed an interest to help him, which would have been usual if it had come from anyone else. A normal, level-headed person would stay clear of the man who had aimed a gun at him a few months prior. But Hannibal's attitude was odd, and now that he could see clearly, Will realized just how many red flags were going off in his head.

All those time he had been psychoanalyzed, Hannibal hadn't attempted to shield him from the monsters inside, but had pushed him right into the cage alongside them. Will had been too stuck in his own head to realize this, but what made him feel the most uneasy was that no one else seemed to find Hannibal the least bit strange. He was considered eccentric sometimes, but never so odd that it anyone questioned it.

It was brilliant, really. Hannibal had gotten everyone used to his slightly unusual mannerisms that it had become normal. Will was reminded of the conversation he once had with Beverly, where she noted his way of always acting different so that no one would know if something was wrong.

The strange thought that Hannibal and he were more alike than he thought made him slightly sick to his stomach. But it was this exact though that became a sort of wake up call for Will. It seemed like the only way to discover who Hannibal was and what made him tick was by agreeing to work with him. Hannibal would find it suspicious and would tread carefully around him and plan things behind his back. Maybe think of it as a challenge. And Will would be doing the exact same thing.

Two people trying to outsmart each other. Will just had to hold onto the hope that he'd be able to think a little faster and better than Hannibal this time.

Will slept several uninterrupted hours that night. And it wasn't just because he had a gun hidden under his mattress, but because, for once, things were starting to look up.

-o-

Hannibal liked to read the news with his morning coffee. It looked like no matter what happened, he could always rely on the internet to always deliver when it came to violent news. People all over the world were trying to pass blames, throw others under the bus, or just flat out murdering each other. Which made for really entertaining articles to read.

But a frown settled on his face when Hannibal stumbled over an article about a body found unearthed in the woods. Despite not being too far into decomposition, the victim was nondescript. Except for the hole in his chest that had once housed his lungs.

The news was upsetting. Hannibal had always been careful with disposing of bodies. He buried his victims in deep graves in secluded parts of the forest, so they wouldn't be able to be unearthed. Unless you knew where to look.

And, evidently, someone knew.

After calmly placing the tablet aside, Hannibal went over to the kitchen sink to wash his coffee cup. Someone had followed him, he decided. Which wasn't such a big problem. Because once he caught scent was who it was, that certain someone would be reduced to a small space on the shelf of his freezer.

-o-

Morning came with a phone call from Jack. He seemed tired already, and it was barely 9AM.

"From the sound of it, the police accepted your statement" Jack said through the phone. "But you still managed to piss them off royally."

Will sighed. "So nothing's changed on that front, then." A pause. "What did you find in the box?"

"A square piece of skin, few strands of brunette hair. Most likely male. And a chestnut flower."

"That's a bit unusual" Will said, frowning. "Have you found out what the symbolism behind it is?"

"For a while we thought that was an allusion to chefs or a variation of that. But after digging a little we stumbled over something else."

"Which is?"

"It means _do me justice_."

Will ran a hand through his hair. "He's going after law enforcement."

"You don't have to sound that worried about it. If he's targeting us, then we have a good chance to catch him. We're trained for all manner of violent situations."

"Not if he takes you by surprise."

"Then we're just going to have to keep our guard up at all times. And so will you." Jack waited a few moments before adding, "And speaking of that, Officer Gonzales won't be watching over you for a few days." Will winced, knowing that Jack was probably upset over the officer getting sick and then 'losing' his gun like that. "Normally, I'd assign someone else, but since we're short staffed, I figure we could do without for a while."

"You're trusting me now?" Will blurted out before he could stop himself.

"No. Officer Connelly is still there ready to shot you if you get out of line." Jack paused. "But you did just stick your neck out last night for us. And that's good. What concerns me is that Dr. Lecter was there at the time."

"I had no intention of hurting him, Jack."

"Well of course you wouldn't. You knew the neighborhood was full of agents. What I mean is that we can't let you out in the field unless there's a crime scene involved and you're being supervised at all times."

"Then you know where I'll be until the next bloodbath" Will said begrudgingly.

"You'll be right with us at the headquarters. We'll be piecing together and updating the profile today and we need as many heads together as we can afford."

Will furrowed his brows. "What about my session with Dr. Vogler? It was supposed to be this afternoon."

"He hasn't come to work this morning, so you'll have to reschedule."

Will felt relieved by the news. He had always hated the sessions and now he could spent the day without having someone digging inside his head.

-o-

As Hannibal was separating the brain from the remaining tissue, he felt a bit amused. For someone who had been practicing psychiatry for over twenty years, Dr. Vogler had a surprisingly tiny brain. Hannibal knew that there was no direct correlation between the size of the brain itself and intelligence, but he found it rather amusing all the same.

He hadn't even intended to kill him. But his purpose had simply disappeared the moment he had walked into the man's home.

_Despite it being past 7AM, Hannibal is forced to knock quite a few times too many before someone opens the door. A disheveled looking man in his early fifties answers. _

_"Yeah?"_

_"Dr. Philip Vogler?" Hannibal asks._

_"And you are?"_

_"I am the former psychiatrist of one of your current patients at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane."_

_Dr. Vogler makes a face. "You used to treat someone who's now in my loony bin? You sound like a pretty crappy shrink, then."_

_Hannibal tries not to narrow his eyes at that remark. He simply files it and stores it in his mind for easy later access. "I'm dealing with a similar patient and was hoping we could discuss their situation for a few moments."_

_The man lets out a short laugh. "You didn't get the memo on the patient-doctor confidentially thing? Wow, you really are an awful shrink."_

_More mental filing. "I don't want to discuss specifics, Dr. Vogler, merely the steps best to employ when dealing with previously unstable patients."_

_The man sighs, but steps aside to let Hannibal in. _

_"So let's try and make it snappy, all right?" Dr. Vogler says, visibly annoyed. He leads Hannibal inside a messy looking living room and they both sit down. "So what particular nut case you used to talk to?"_

_Even though he's barely inside the house, Hannibal is already finding it hard to stay stoic in front of this man. "My previous patient was Will Graham."_

_"Ah, the one who ate that girl's ear" Dr. Vogler says, looking amused. "You know, just between us, but this guy actually made me want to laugh when I first saw him. He's, what, like eighty pounds and looks like he lives in the library, but he's a notorious killer? Hilarious."_

_Hannibal feels as if the man's very voice is beginning to irk him. "I was wondering how someone like him deals with nightmares and other triggers for anger."_

_Dr. Vogler scratches his chin for a moment. "I think he said something like there's no nightmares to speak of. And he didn't look like you could ever get him angry anyway. I mean all the time he was in there, he showed no signs of anything other than depression."_

_"You're certain?"_

_"No, what am I, a human recorder?" _

_"And how has prison affected his mental stability?"_

_The man shrugs. "Everyone in there gets down, you know? It doesn't really matter."_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"Look, we're dealing with convicted felons here, yeah? No one cares what they think or how they're doing. So I don't really care what this Graham guy says, all right? I'm paid to _look_ like I care. You know how it is. You ask the standard questions, nod when they talk, try to look as friendly as you can, and if you're _really_ lucky, then you get to be home in time for Letterman."_

_Hannibal thinks things through only for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your time."_

_"Yeah, sure." _

_As Hannibal walks over to the front door he can feel Dr. Vogler lagging behind. Despite the fact that they had spoken only for about a minute, Hannibal already knows what he has to do. And once he's in front of the door, he pauses and smiles. Because, instead of opening it, Hannibal locks it with an abrupt click._


	7. Two Steps Back

"No, absolutely not" Jack said, trying not to yell. It was way too early in the morning for a sore throat. "You're lucky I even let you walk in here instead of kicking you out myself."

Freddie Lounds sighed deeply and tried to look heartbroken. "I'm only asking for one afternoon. Just a couple of hours to talk to Will Graham and get his side of the story."

"You know, I should just let you see him right now. Give Will the satisfaction of throwing you out himself."

"I've talked to even more uncooperative people than him in my career and still got a decent article out of it."

"Which is just a testament to how good you are at making things up" Jack said.

"The truth will come out one way or another, Agent Crawford."

"The truth _has_ come out. Now please take your leave, Ms. Lounds."

The reporter smiled bitterly. "Always a pleasure." And she turned on her heels and headed for the exit.

To her surprise, she saw a familiar face walk through the FBI front door just as she was leaving. There was another officer keeping close behind him, but Freddie chose to ignore him.

"Mr. Graham" she said, smiling, "it's been a while."

Will had hoped that plenty of time would still pass before he'd ever need to have a talk with someone like her. "Excuse me" he said, stepping by her, eyes kept forward.

"Just a second, please."

Despite his situation, Will's manners hadn't completely left him. He stopped. The reporter dug inside the pocket of her jacket and held out a small card in front of him.

"It has my home number on there, so you can reach me any time you want."

Will raised an eyebrow. "You really think I'd ever want to talk to you?"

"Oh, you will" she said, giving him a knowing look.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?"

"It's a reminder, Mr. Graham. I'm the last person who's still willing to believe you. Just think about what that means. And the kind of power the media has."

And she was gone, leaving him with the card in his hand. Will was stuck somewhere between wanting to throw it into the nearest bin and laughing at the very idea of sitting down to talk with Freddie Lounds. He placed it in his pocket, unsure of why he had done it. It wouldn't matter in the long run anyway. He wasn't allowed to make calls unless he was supervised.

He followed the corridors until he heard a flurry of voices coming in from the examination room. Will tried to keep his presence as unobtrusive as possible as he walked inside. Agents Beverly, Brian, and Jimmy were around a table and talking intensely about something. Jack and Alana were also there, somewhere on the sidelines, as if keeping back from being roped into whatever argument was going on.

"Ah, good, you're here" Jack said, when he caught sight of Will.

And without another word, he nudged him into the middle of the examination room. Will felt as if he was back in kindergarten, when his father would push him towards the crowd of children so that he couldn't get out of socializing.

But the three beside him didn't seem perturbed by his presence and continued arguing,

"What I find ridiculous is that we haven't even discussed the idea that our killer could be just a puppet working for someone else" Jimmy said.

Beverly shook her head. "That's because it doesn't make much sense. It's obvious that he's a guy without people in his life."

"You're both wrong" Brian chimed in. "He was some sort of Mr. Popularity or intelligent guy in college and now he's stuck with the self image that he's God's gift to mankind."

"Look, we've been over this all morning and gotten nowhere" Beverly said. "What're we supposed to do here, vote on it?"

The three looked expectantly at Will, waiting for him to choose one side. He wasn't sure how to respond without stepping on any toes.

Instead of agreeing with anyone, he decided to go with something else. He cleared his throat "I think it's safe to say that our killer has access to a large amount of money."

And there were the looks again. Everyone regarded him as if he had just sprouted extra limbs. The room fell dead silent and all eyes had settled on him with an intensity that was supremely uncomfortable.

Will felt like a deer in the headlights. Luckily, Alana leaned in a bit closer next to him.

"I think the silence means we're all waiting for an explanation" she said with a hushed tone.

Will tried not to look too nervous as he started talking.

"I believe that the killer is arrogant because he has to be. He has no family or friends and it's most likely that he has failed in most areas of his life. But he holds onto this confidence because it's the last thing that keeps his identity from falling apart. That's why he taunts the police, the FBI. He has to convince himself that he's good at something. That he's worth something. He needs validation."

Brian shook his head, confused. "I don't get it, where does the money come into this?"

"The calls that were made to the houses last night were made by different people. But they weren't friends of the killer. Same with the man who ran from the scene. He was paid. And you need a lot of money in order to convince some strangers to do what you want, no questions asked."

"There's just one problem with that theory" Jimmy said. "Why would the killer save the guy who ran away? Why would be risk his own neck by driving by to save him?"

"Because the killer doesn't want him dead. He only kills specific people. And the man from last night didn't match whatever pattern he's going for."

"You told us before that doesn't pick his victims based on something particular, that he chooses them out of convenience."

"I was partly wrong about that" Will said. "The victims _are_ picked out of convenience. But there's another criteria that I haven't figured out yet. And it's not tied to physical appearance or jobs or hobbies. It has to be something else. Maybe it's the way they smile or act in public... it's something subtle that only the killer would know."

Beverly sighed. "Well we better find out what it is before he murders someone else. And going by the box he left yesterday... it's going to be one of us."

"Most likely someone out of the people that were at the scene last night" Brian added, looking at Jack. "You'd think that would be enough to warrant a couple of body guards following us all around, but..."

"We're not letting ourselves be intimidated by this man" Jack said. "He's already got a big ego as it is. We're not playing into his delusion."

"I think 'delusion' went out the window when he managed to stick a young girl to a wall with steel rods" Jimmy mumbled.

"We have Dr. Blood here to tell you how you need to approach this man if any of you should run into him" Jack said. "So try and get that profile in top shape until the time I get back."

Get back? Will suddenly felt very uneasy at the thought of being stuck all day among the people who were more than wary of him. As intimidating as he was, Will didn't want Jack leaving him behind.

"Has there been another crime?" Will asked, hoping to find out why Jack suddenly had to leave.

"No."

"Then I don't understand why-"

"You don't have to. Just stay here and find out what makes this guy tick. All of you. No one's leaving this examination room until we make some headway, am I clear?"

"But what if there's a crime-" Jimmy began, but Jack's stare made him stop.

"Am I clear?" he repeated.

They all nodded, more or less, convincingly. And with that, Jack left the room.

"Jeez" Brian said, rolling his eyes, "someone forgot their happy pills this morning..."

"You better hope I didn't hear that right" Jack's voice echoed from the corridor.

"Maybe he's got a point" Jimmy offered. "We should be able to figure out something. I mean there's five of us here."

Brian shook his head. "I doubt we'll make any leeway by just arguing with each other. We should just let Captain Empathy here spend some quality time with our last victim and see if anything jumps at him."

"Is that the scientific method we're employing now?" Alana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's fine" Will said, sounding a bit too meek, "It can't hurt to go over things again." Especially since his reconstruction had been interrupted the last time.

"Great, so we'll let him play Sherlock for a while and rest of us can break for lunch" Brian said, smiling.

"We've still got a profile to sort out, remember?" Alana added.

Beverly nodded and sighed. "And we better get going before Jack's sixth sense alerts him that we're slacking."

The three investigators headed outside the examination room. Alana stood behind a bit.

Will could tell Alana was still apprehensive around him ever since he had snuck out of the officers' custody. And he could sympathize. In the few days he had been released from the tiny, cold cell, Will had done a few too many things he never thought he would do. Drugging people, stealing, lying to the police.

This wasn't him. And truth be told, he was surprised Alana hadn't spilled everything and then decide to stay as far away from him as possible.

Which is why he didn't expect her to ask, "Are you going to be alright?"

He smiled, nervously. "What, seeing the victim of the last crime scene I contaminated? I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, just call out if something happens."

And before leaving, Alana gave him a look that Will could only decode as meaning 'don't do anything stupid'. Will flashed back to her expression when he told her that he used the sleeping pills to drug the two officers. He could still see the disappointment in her eyes. He hoped that one day that would revert to the kindness he was used to seeing.

Once he was alone, Will moved over to the steel table where Christy Haverly was resting, covered by a white sheet. As much as he hated to go back to seeing her, Will knew there was no way around this. He pinched the sheet between his fingers and gently peeled it back a bit.

She looked peaceful now. Will was glad he didn't have to actively avoid her wide, staring eyes since they had been closed. And at the same time, he felt a bit disappointed. Will was so used to seeing all manner of horrific things in the back of his mind that now he was stunned by how quiet everything was. No hallucinations or delusions. Nothing jumped at him.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. But nothing happened, and all he could only hear was the sterile sounds of the FBI headquarters. He didn't expect to start feeling himself as he was the killer since he wasn't at a crime scene, but having a body present usually gave him a nudge in some direction. Just a few flashes. A few images.

When nothing conjured in his mind, Will opened his eyes and remembered what had happened at the last scene. How he could only empathize properly when he stepped into the blood. He needed a direction connection. Something real. Tentatively, he reached over and touched the victim's shoulder. It was cold and soft and Will felt nauseated at that moment. It didn't seem fair that he was invading her privacy.

But he forced himself to keep the hand still. Will tried closing his eyes again and steeled himself. And at that moment, he was a killer. Picking victims after a specific criteria. But which was it?

He saw himself taking a stroll down the street. The sky was clear and sunny, perfect for a walk, and there was Christy Haverly just a few feet ahead, walking to campus. She was walking by herself, smiling and oblivious. He watched her closely. But it wasn't because he thought she was beautiful, or young, or could scream at just the right pitch when he strangled the life out of her.

No, there was something else. There was something else about the others, too. All of them were of different genders, different jobs, different looks, different hobbies. But something linked them.

He kept walking and watching, stalking her every move. A second later she removed a phone from her pocket and tapped on it a few times. She then broke into a smile. The woman walked as if the whole world was hers and nothing bad could ever happen.

So he kept following her, his eyes never wavering, because nothing seemed to faze her or annoy her and she looked too healthy and why, why, _**WHY**_ was she so fucking _happy_?!

The image suddenly snapped out of focus, as if it was too angry to persist. Will opened his eyes slowly but stayed motionless for a moment. Could that really be it? It seemed too easy.

Will made his way to the victim files that were scattered on a nearby table and he leafed through them.

He couldn't believe how simple it was. All along he had been searching for a pattern to link all the victims, but he had never thought to focus on their state of mind.

They were all content with their life. Happy. And the killer couldn't stand it.

-o-

Freddie was feeling confident. She was feeling confident because when one door was shut in her face, she could always count on another one opening. Even if this particular door wasn't so much open as ajar.

Truth be told, Dr. Hannibal Lecter gave her the creeps. He was always too polite, too in control. But after being stuck with a serial killer who basically played Operation on a live person, Freddie could handle being creeped out a little.

She was just still a bit surprised that Hannibal had agreed to talk to her.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Dr. Lecter" she said as she sat down on one of the chairs in his office. "After our last encounter I wasn't sure you would be so cooperative."

"Your article idea intrigued me. You don't often see the media want to accurately portray the profile of a

serial killer."

"Well, we do aim to be as interesting as possible" Freddie said, smiling. What she neglected to mention, however, was the fact that the article probably wouldn't even be published. Her interest behind it all was mostly personal.

"I thought maybe we could start by talking a bit about Abigail and her upbringing. Her father was a serial killer, after all."

Hannibal looked away for a moment. "Discussing the death of Abigail is a still a topic that very much affects me. But I can understand why you would want to know more about it. You were also close to Abigail."

"I was. It's a real shame to see someone as young as her just fall off the face of the earth like that."

"You're not convinced she was murdered?" Hannibal asked.

"We like to rely on facts, doctor. And her body was never found."

"Perhaps that's why I am glad the case was closed the way it was. I'd prefer to live with the thought that Abigail is still alive somewhere rather than have the police keep digging until they find a body."

"Could you tell me a bit about your relationship with her?"

He smiled slightly. He looked nostalgic. "Abigail brought out my paternal side. Something I wasn't even sure existed until I met her."

"Was it because you had a hand in saving her or because she had become an orphan?"

"Both. Seeing her world shatter and fall around her saddened me deeply. I felt like Abigail held a mirror to me, reminding me that when I was a child, I was in a very similar situation as her."

"And what about Will Graham's involvement in Abigail's life?"

Hannibal paused for a moment. "Will once told me that he felt guilty for ending her father's life. I think that he had to get close to Abigail in order to take care of her. But he couldn't. He couldn't save her. And that's why, when faced with this inability, he became unstable. He couldn't handle what he had done, and so he wanted to stop the source of his pain."

"That's why you think he killed her."

Hannibal nodded once. Freddie scribbled a few things on the legal pad she had brought. She had a recorder in her pocket but knew better than to bring up that subject again.

"In your professional opinion as a psychiatrist, what do you think makes a person want to murder someone? What makes a man working in law enforcement suddenly turn to the other side?"

"I think that after working for years under the constraints of the law, one might feel as if they are being suffocated. It is not unusual for the tendency to rebel to appear."

"Have you ever thought about that, doctor?" Freddie asked, making sure that it sounded lighthearted. "You also work in a strict environment."

"I like order too much to indulge in any kind of rebelling fantasy."

Freddie nodded as she jotted down some more. She attempted to look calm as the uneasiness snuck around her again. There was just something fundamentally wrong about someone who was so serene. So cool and composed. Freddie wondered exactly what hid behind the eccentric façade of Dr. Lecter.

-o-

The moment he got back to the hotel room, Will heard the phone ringing.

Officer Connelly picked it up. "Hello?" He paused. "You're sure? All right, but he's not gonna like this..."

He handed the receiver to Will with an apprehensive look on his face.

"Mr. Graham" a woman on the other line said.

Will sighed. "Ms. Lounds. Can I ask what you had to do to get this number?"

"It was rather easy, actually. You'd be surprised the things you can get out of people once you wear them down with talking."

"I can imagine."

"The offer is still open if you want to discuss things. Just say the word and I'll drop by."

"You still think I'd consider that?"

"Well you haven't hung up on me yet. That tells me you're a little interested. Or desperate. Either way is good for me."

"Goodbye, Ms. Lounds."

"I had quite an interesting chat with Dr. Lecter today" she said quickly. "Just thought I'd mention that."

Will clutched the receiver closer to his ear. "What about?"

Freddie gave a little chuckle. "I'm afraid I can't detail on that. At least... not over the phone. Until next time, Mr. Graham."

And the other end fell silent.

Will placed the receiver down and realized his hand was still clasped around it. He was upset, but he wasn't sure why. It didn't matter what Hannibal told one reporter. It didn't matter because he had already been sentenced and believed to be insane and his life was a mess.

Maybe what upset him was that Hannibal was still hell bent on dragging him down until there was no more light left to see, until no one in his life would still regard him as a human being. But what he couldn't understand was why. What possible motive could he have?

Will needed to know. And he was damned if he would just let Hannibal keep spinning his lies and not fight back. He picked up the phone again and dialed.

After a few too many rings passed, Jack picked up. "What?" he asked bluntly.

"Sorry to bother you, Jack" Will said. He was a bit taken aback by the sounds of music and people talking loudly that were coming from the other end of the line. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Did you find out anything more about the case?"

"Something turned up, but I'm not sure if it's substantial yet, so I-" He paused when he realized what he was listening to. It sounded like he was at a bar. "Where exactly are you, Jack?"

"What did I tell you about this not being any of your business?"

"But I-"

"Drop it. Now tell me about the case."

"There's not much to say other than this feeling I've got about the victims."

"Which is?"

"I told you that the killer picks them according to some criteria. And I think it's the mental state of our victims. They were happy. As far as we can tell, all of them were content with their life."

Jack thought for a moment. "And our killer wanted to do anything in his power to stop it. He's envious."

"Most likely."

He paused. "That's good. It's not much, but at least it's something to go on. So we're looking for someone who works in a business with unlimited access to drugs, and who's also depressed or miserable."

Will rubbed his head. "That can be anyone in America, Jack."

"I'll have the team start searching around any hospitals and drug stores around the Christy Haverly's crime scene and see if anything stands out." He cleared his throat. "Now was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about Dr. Vogler. According to the staff at the prison, he hasn't come to work at all, and he's not at home either."

"And you want someone to talk to now? I thought you hated being psychoanalyzed."

"I still do, but I know that it's essential to my state of mind" Will said. He hoped Jack would believe the lie.

There was a lull on the other line. And then Jack's voice came back on, annoyed. "I think I pretty lenient letting you visit your dogs, but there is absolutely no chance that I'll accept you being analyzed by Dr. Bloom."

"I wasn't about to suggest that."

"Good."

"But I think I should go back to my therapy with Dr. Lecter."

"The doctor who you were ready to kill back in Minnesota. What makes you think I'd allow for you to be within five miles of this man?"

"He's the one who suggested it, actually."

A pause. "Is that supposed to be a convincing lie?"

"I know you talk to him, Jack. He must've mentioned it."

"Even if he did, I'm not allowing this. You threatened his life and history suggests you'll do it again."

"Jack, I was deathly sick. I had such a high fever that it was basically cooking my mind. I couldn't think straight. I would've threatened anyone that day."

"You being this adamant about it just pushes me to believe that you want to harm Dr. Lecter."

"I have a guard with me at all time. There's no way I could ever lay a finger on him."

Jack made a frustrated sound. "Look, I'll talk about it with the staff at the prison first but-"

"Jack, every _single_ session I had there was a nightmare. But Dr. Lecter made me feel as if we were just friends talking. It didn't feel like someone was invading my head."

"I hope you're aware that the only reason I'm considering this is because you're helping us."

"Thank you." He waited a moment, listening to the sounds of people talking and laughing. "Jack, this place you're at right now... Is that where you've been all day?"

"Let me make this as clear as possible. My personal life is something only family and close friends get access to, and right now even they don't get to interfere. Understand?"

Will sighed and decided to just stop bothering. Jack was obviously going through something but didn't want his help. And why would he? At this point they couldn't be considered friends. Far from it.

He spent that night listening to the crickets outside his window and thinking about motive. What possible motive could someone like Dr. Lecter have to kill? Will knew that he relished the thought of seeing his patient take the fall for the murders, like it was some sort of experiment in the making. But what was the reason for committing the murders in the first place? Was Dr. Lecter really just a modern version of Dr. Frankenstein, determined to see just how far he could warp someone's mind?

Will turned around in his bed, trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. There was no scenario in his mind where it was possible for him to understand Dr. Lecter without getting close to him. And the only way to do that was by making Jack trust him again. And then get his old psychiatrist to not catch onto the fact that he was now studying _him_. Two tasks which sounded more and more unlikely the more he thought about them.

How was he supposed to fool a renowned medial doctor who had once had unlimited access to the inner workings of his mind?

Will sat up in his bed and rubbed his forehead. He needed some help, that was becoming obvious. But what he couldn't believe was that he was considering talking to Freddie Lounds.

-o-

It was bizarre being back in Hannibal's dinning room after so many months. Alana watched him and Jack talking and joking while they ate, as if they were stuck in their own little universe and the outside world didn't exist.

"Will has made a rather odd request the other day" Jack said taking a sip of wine.

"He wants me to reprise my role as his therapist" Hannibal said calmly.

Jack rose his eyebrows a fraction. "So he really wasn't lying."

"It's not unusual for an old patient to want to reconnect with their psychiatrist. Most of them are comforted by the sense of familiarity."

"Wait a minute, you're considering this?" Alana asked, frowning.

"It really is a bad idea no matter how you look at it" Jack said.

But Hannibal didn't seem troubled in the slightest. "I'm convinced that whatever resentment Will has held for me has disappeared along with his encephalitis."

Alana wanted to object, but ultimately decided against it. She was now stuck between an old friend she trusted and another who desperately needed her help. And no matter how she looked at it, a part of her had a hard time imagining someone like Will - who had always appeared anxious and wary - could turn out to be a serial killer. She couldn't contest the evidence, but her instinct told her that something was still off about it.

She turned her attention back to her plate and ate in silence as the two men conversed. But she still found herself glancing in Hannibal's direction every so often. Her mentor had always been polite and precise and crafty. And she couldn't picture him being the kind of man to frame one of his patients, least of all someone who claimed was his friend. And yet there was still that part of her that told her otherwise.

"It's odd that Dr. Vogler disappeared the way he did" Jack said. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that Will had something to do with it. He told me himself that he always hated those sessions."

"No surprise there. Will hates being analyzed by anyone" Alana said.

"Dr. Vogler worked in a high-stress environment" Hannibal offered. "Perhaps he decided it was time for a spontaneous holiday."

_Worked_ in a high-stress environment? Alana frowned at his use of the past tense. As if the doctor was no longer with them. She suddenly realized that she was becoming paranoid. No, _Will_ was making her paranoid.

She tried not to stab at the food in her plate as she thought about how calm her life had been just a few months ago. Now she was swaying between believing her old mentor or a desperate friend. And she knew that the time would come when she'd have to pick a side for good.

-o-

Two days went by in relative silence and Will spent all his time in his room, reading. While he waited for Jack to make his decision, Will had received a few books that Alana had meant to send him in prison. Most of them concerned various sides of criminology, but what caught his attention was a book regarding memory. It detailed about how it was possible to regain a lost memory by being subjected to a specific type of psychedelic drug.

He almost laughed at the thought. That was exactly what he needed, something to cause him delusions or hallucinations. As if people weren't already having trouble believing anything he said.

"I'll have to head down to the lobby for a little bit" Officer Connelly said, "sorry about this, but it's Agent Crawford's orders." He revealed a pair of handcuffs.

"It's fine, really" Will said, even if it's wasn't. There was no point in making him feel bad for doing his job.

Will sat down on the floor with his book, and waited for Connelly to cuff him to the radiator.

"I'll be right back" the officer said as he slipped the key into his pocket. He quickly disappeared out the door, leaving Will trying to read the book while his right hand was sitting at an uncomfortable angle. But at least he could, for once, be alone in a room with just his own thoughts.

He kept reading for a few more minutes, wondering what Jack and the team were up to. Two days of nothing was starting to make him feel anxious. He raised his eyes and they trailed off towards the phone. For some reason, he expected it to ring at that moment.

But what followed next wasn't a phone ringing.

The silence of the hotel was ripped apart instantly by the sound of gunshots. The sound of screaming made Will's heart drop as soon as he realized that it was coming from right outside his door. His first instinct was to get up and dash for the gun hidden under his bed, but the handcuffs dragged him back down in an instant. The screaming persisted, and other yells joined it, probably the hotel staff and guests beginning to panic.

Will tugged at the handcuffs, but to no avail. All he could do was stare at the phone that was too far away from him to reach. He sat on the floor, and waited.

When the yells finally stopped, the silence that came upon the building was almost funerary. Will kept his head in his hands and waited for the inevitable.

The door burst open soon after and a swarm of agents he didn't recognize flooded through. Will didn't even try to resist as they released the handcuffs and then dragged him outside as if he had been behind all the chaos.


	8. Escapist

It seemed like whenever he would make any kind of progress on the case or his own situation, something happened that sent him right back a few steps.

Will regarded himself in the fake mirror in the interrogation room. He didn't look like himself in the slightest. He was back feeling tired and depressed and looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. For a moment, Will wondered if this is how it felt to see his own self being slowly chipped away. Even if he was more or less physically healthy, he couldn't help but feel like the Will he knew was dying out. Or maybe he had died out long ago and he had simply failed to realize. As strange as it was, this thought saddened him more than anything else.

He wondered if the others really perceived him as a maniac now that he was looking the part. And he hoped that his gaze was intense enough to make the people behind the glass uncomfortable. Just as he felt sitting there handcuffed to the table and being watched. Again.

After an agonizing wait, an agent entered the room with a sigh.

"Seems you've had quite the week, Mr. Graham" he said, taking a seat before him. "Having the officer that kept watch of you suddenly die is one hell of a way to end it."

Will didn't even wait for his question. "I didn't kill Officer Connelly."

"His death sure was convenient for you, wasn't it?"

"You really think I was stupid enough to shoot him right outside my door and then proceed to handcuff myself to a radiator?"

"I think that's exactly what you did. As absurd as the situation is, you knew that running away wouldn't do you any good, so you tried to make yourself look innocent. Either that, or you have outside help."

"You can check the phone records from the hotel. I didn't talk to anyone that Agent Crawford wasn't aware of."

"You wouldn't need a phone to communicate with someone. We know that you tried to run from the scene of a crime a few days ago."

"I didn't run, I-"

"You really think anyone would believe your stories, Mr. Graham? You're a convicted felon who killed four people. We know how crafty you can be."

There was a commotion beyond the door, and both Will and the agent stopped talking for a moment. The door opened soon after, and Jack walked inside, hands clenched and eyes shooting daggers at the agent.

"We're done here" he said, simply "now take the cuffs off so we can get on our way."

"With all due respect, Agent Crawford, but I barely started questioning-"

"We received the footage from the hotel camera from outside the room, and you can clearly see Will Graham had nothing to do with Officer Connelly' shooting. So if you're done wasting everyone's time, I'd like to release him and go back to working on the case."

"I still don't think-"

Jack made it a point to invade the agent's personal space. "Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?"

The man shook his head begrudgingly and then stood off the seat to remove the handcuffs from Will.

Once they were outside the interrogation room, Will struggled to keep up with Jack's fast walking pace. There was obviously a lot on his mind.

For a moment, Will saw this release as Jack's way of going back to believing in what he had to say. Will surprised himself when he felt a smile fighting to come out.

"Thanks for helping me" Will said, still dazed that he wouldn't have to spend another few hours being interrogated.

"Don't thank me. Things are bad right now" he said, "first there was the suspect who avoided shooting you and now Connelly's dead. You know what that means?"

Will kept silent. The killer knew him, that was already obvious.

"It means that our guy has some personal business with you that we have no idea about. So you either know about it and are lying to us, or you're just the victim in this." He paused to take a deep breath. "And you have no idea how much I want you to be the victim."

And there it was. Jack wasn't standing up for him because he believed Will was innocent. He just wanted his help with the case. Will was just a special little toy that Jack didn't want to be used by anyone else other than his department. The toy that had been broken once but now was taped back together.

He tried to let that go and focus on whoever had shot the officer outside his room.

"You said that there's camera footage regarding who killed Connelly?"

"The footage is blurry at best and can't be used to identify our killer. He was dressed in all black clothing and ran as soon as he shot." Jack sighed. "The only thing the tape is useful for is telling us that our guy is about five foot nine."

"So we have nothing."

Jack chose not to answer the question.

"Why are you so sure that whoever killed Officer Connelly is the same one who murdered all those other people?" Will asked.

"It's all too much of a coincidence. We knew he was going after law enforcement, and we knew that it was most likely one of us. And after seeing you chasing after his accomplice last time, our guy figured out who you are and where you lived." Jack sighed. "What did you use to tell us, Will? That this killer is trying to send us a message? I can't think of one that's more loud and clear."

"But it doesn't really make sense. He usually goes after people who are visibly happy. Content with life. I'm neither of those two."

"You're not part of the pattern. This is personal to him because you tried to apprehend his accomplice. He probably thought of you as a killer, just like him. But now that you're working with us you're seen as a traitor."

They took a few more turns in the building before they reached the outside. Will struggled not to look worried as they descended the steps outside the building. The killer was now on his heels, upset that Will had killed his accomplice.

"So what's our next step?" Will asked, a bit apprehensive of the answer.

"We can't wait around anymore."

Will got the hint that Jack was ready to stretch the rules. "Why do I have the feeling that the team won't like whatever you're planning?"

"They won't, and that's why they won't have a say in this. They won't even know about it."

"What are you thinking, Jack?"

The Special Agent-in-Charge stopped and turned to look at him. "I want you to act as bait. That's why I'm going to release you."

-o-

Will stared out the window of the car Jack was driving. Only a few minutes prior he had heard the words that he was longing for but never thought he would live to hear. He was being released.

He knew it was only temporary and not exactly legal, but those thoughts were being deafened by every fiber of his being screaming that he was finally liberated. It wasn't right and odds were that something would happen to him by the time this was all over. But Will just found that he didn't care. As long as he could go back to his little house where it was peaceful, nothing else mattered.

"You can't talk to anyone on the team or the FBI about this" Jack said. "I'll attempt to make them believe that you're merely moved back home but still have a guard with you at all times." He paused to run a hand over his forehead. "I'm risking a lot by doing this, I hope you know that."

"I think I'm risking quite a lot here too, Jack."

"Usually, I'd double the security around you, but since you're playing bait here, I can't. We can't afford to let the killer catch scent that there's someone guarding you, because the moment he does, he won't risk coming close to you."

"I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to do once he contacts me."

"Play along. Make it seem like you were proved innocent and released but that we never let the media know. He'll think that's odd, and so he'll try to get a closer look." Jack paused for a minute. "There's just one big problem with this whole scenario. I still can't give you a gun, so you won't be able to defend yourself properly."

"I don't care" Will said, shaking his head. "I'll figure something out."

"You can still say no to all this."

He shook his head. "Not a chance. If there's a shot to find out what he wants with me, I'm in."

A few more moments of silence passed between them.

"I know our friendship took a big hit a few months ago" Jack said suddenly, "but that doesn't mean I want you getting hurt out there, understand? Stay safe. And don't hesitate to call me if something goes wrong."

Will nodded, his eyes still glued to the window. There was a big chance that he wouldn't end up either shot or dead at the end of all this. But Will was determined not to back down because he slowly realized that he had become someone with very little to lose.

Jack's cell phone rang suddenly, and he picked up. Will couldn't tell much by Jack's short answers, but he guessed it was the local police.

"You're sure?" he asked, visibly distraught. "All right, I'll be there as soon as I can." He quickly hung up and threw his phone on the dashboard.

"Damnit..." he whispered as a vein began to throb on his forehead.

"What happened?" Will asked, careful not to anger him any more.

"Someone found two bodies buried in the forest. The police want our help."

"Why aren't they handling it themselves?"

"Because both bodies have organs missing. Liver and heart."

Will had to wait a moment to let it sink in. "The Chesapeake Ripper."

"There was another body unearthed a few days ago, but we didn't think it could be him again. But now there's no doubt in my mind."

"Are they sure it's him? The Ripper usually likes to create tableaus, and these victims were found half-buried."

"The police think that he's come to a point where it's too exhausting to create a specific scene for each victim. He didn't intend for us to find these." Jack shook his head. He was feeling too tired for two cases. "It's hard to contest the evidence. He's back... And judging by the bodies, it's safe to say that he never really left."

Instead of driving back to the hotel, Jack was forced to make a U-turn and head for the crime scene. Will felt anxiety slowly bubbling in his gut. He didn't want to stay away from the hotel room for too long. If the staff would walk in to straighten up, then they'd find the gun he kept hidden. He hoped that the blood stains that had to be still visible outside his room would be enough to deter them.

The sky was pitch black and the air was heavy with an ominous silence by the time they reached the site. Jack picked up a flashlight before he stepped out of the car. Will kept close to him and noticed several cones of light moving in the distance. The police were still looking around the site.

"Most of them will probably still be slightly pissed off after what happened at the last scene" Jack said. "So be careful not to step on any toes."

"Jack, I'd probably step on toes even if I was standing still."

"Just get in there and do the reconstruction right. I'll take care of them."

"Agent Crawford" one of the detectives said, "good to see you made it on time. We were about to move the bodies over to the morgue."

Will noticed that the man made it a point not to directly refer to him. It would've been difficult to put a label on him anyway. He wasn't an agent, or a consultant. Will was just there, barely hanging on to whoever still regarded him as a human being.

"We'll only need a couple of minutes" Jack said, looking over at Will for conformation.

The policemen that had been gathered around the site began to scatter, a few of them shooting unpleasant glances over at Will. A few minutes later and everyone had cleared out. Before following suit, Jack handed Will his flashlight.

As soon as they were gone, Will turned towards the site. And felt like he was completely alone for the first time in months. He felt uneasy with each step he took towards the bodies. The crunch of the leaves under his shoes sent echoes, and the omnipresent trees looked as if they would constrict at any moment.

The two bodies were lying face-up onto the ground and were covered in dirt and leaves. Other than the obvious missing organs, there were several brutal wounds on the back of their head, neck and back. It was obvious that they had died in a lot of pain.

Will crouched down next to them and closed his eyes.

It was easier to put himself in their shoes this time. He didn't even have to concentrate too much, just a few heartbeats passed, and Will opened his eyes to a new reality. Time ran backwards, slow at first, but then progressively faster, until the sun began to rise above the horizon.

The moment flashed for a second, and Will found himself in front of a chilly morning in the forest. He was hiding behind a large tree. The two bodies were gone from their graves, leaving nothing a clean bed of leaves behind.

A few seconds later, Will saw a couple jogging a few feet away from him, stopping by a tree trunk to rest. He grasped the axe in his hand behind his back and began to move.

It was almost too easy, really. The couple was chatting and laughing, oblivious to their surroundings. Will moved taking large steps, not caring if the two would hear him. When he was within earshot, the man turned around and smiled. He said something, most likely pointless pleasantries, but it didn't matter what it was. Because Will brought the axe into his skull. The man fell down instantly, a look of shock on his face, and once he removed the point on the axe from his forehead, Will moved over to the woman.

She was already screaming by now, but there was no point to the noise. They were too far into the forest for anyone to hear. The woman took one last look at her boyfriend before running away. But her run was desperate and clumsy, and in only a few steps, Will was right on her heels. He swung the axe into her back and then again into the back of her head. Blood pooled around her when she fell.

The couple was down at this point, but still writhing and moaning and it was all too noisy for his taste. Will grabbed hold of the woman and dragged her over to her boyfriend. And then he got to work. But there was a distinctiveness to it. He had to be careful to silence them without damaging what was important.

He didn't want to disturb the organs. Didn't want to wound the meat in any way.

Will shook the axe to the side to get rid of the blood that was now running down the handle. He stared at the man's chest, wondering if the jogging meant that his heart would be in good shape. Deciding it was time to find out, Will raised the axe.

A pitch black sight flooded his gaze, and Will realized he was back in the present. He looked back down at the graves. Two people had transitioned from a happy, smiling couple to a pair of dead bodies in only a heartbeat. Will tried not to think about that too much as he strode back to the line of police cars where Jack was along with the rest of the police.

"The killer knew who they were" Will said "and he probably stalked them until they went out on their jog. He used an axe to kill them."

"It takes a lot of force to use one of those to kill" Jack said. "So we can assume it's someone well built. Definitely male. What do you think his association with the victims was?"

"I'm not sure. But I could feel a grudge bubbling under the surface. The killer was upset about something."

Jack nodded, glancing back at the site as if hoping it could talk. "What else?"

Will flashed back to the wounds on their bodies, those wounds that looked so brutal but still so precise. "He, uh... he avoided hitting some of the organs as he killed them."

"The liver and heart, respectively?" one of the policemen asked.

Will nodded, feeling slightly nauseated.

"Will?" Jack asked, noticing his change of expression.

"He didn't want these bodies to be found. That's why there's nothing theatrical about them. The Ripper was just... he was just hungry."

Several of the policemen behind Jack made sounds of disgust or disbelief.

"But why now?" Jack asked. "The Ripper killed in threes and then stopped for a long period of time. Why has he suddenly gotten so bad at hiding his victims?"

Will thought for a moment. "Something happened in his life that's causing him trouble. He's distracted."

-o-

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier regarded Hannibal with curiosity as she sat in her office. The light from the window landed on his face in a way that made his expression seem stony. Almost inhuman.

"You seem unfocused lately, Hannibal" she said, trying to gauge his emotions.

"Someone has gone rifling through my past and I don't very much appreciate the intrusion."

"Have you spoken to this person yet?"

Hannibal rubbed his chin. "The situation is somewhat delicate at this moment. I believe it would be best to let things run their course and act once things escalate too much."

Bedelia's face softened. "It's all right to still feel somewhat distraught. You lost a surrogate daughter only a few months ago. And also the only patient you ever considered a friend."

"I don't believe I've quite lost Will Graham" Hannibal said. "He has made a request for us to resume our therapy."

Bedelia raised her eyebrows. "And you think that is a healthy action to pursue?"

"I think he has rehabilitated himself since last we spoke. I don't believe he holds any ill feelings towards my person."

"He's still someone who took lives, Hannibal. And threatened to kill you. Do you think it would be a good idea to surround yourself with someone like him?"

"I believe it is. I believe our friendship can still be mended."

Bedelia was taken a bit aback by the statement. She wasn't sure what to make of it or if she even believed him. But then again she never could be entirely sure of what went on in Hannibal's mind.

-o-

After the site had been cleared of the bodies, Jack instructed Will to get back in the car without talking to any of the policemen. Will felt slightly annoyed at how he was being ordered around. But there was no denying that Jack was seriously risking his job by allowing him to be without constant surveillance. So Will kept quiet, especially since he knew that it wasn't exactly Jack's highest priority to play driver for him.

Will was taken back hotel so that he could pick up the few things he had there. As he packed up, Will noted the glint in Jack's eyes. The door to the room was open, revealing the hallway where Connelly had been murdered, and Jack just stared at the dried up blood that had seeped into the carpet. His brows were furrowed, and Will knew exactly what he was thinking. Had he not have been handcuffed, Jack would have added yet another murder to Will's list. There was no doubt about it.

As he rolled a few shirts and placed them inside a bag, Will risked a peek in Jack's direction. Luckily, he was still staring at the hallway. Will couldn't believe his stroke of luck. He quickly moved his hand under the mattress and slipped the gun inside his rolled up shirt.

"Will."

He froze with his arm still in the bag as Jack turned around to look at him. The grave expression on his face sent chills down Will's spine.

"I don't know what you're trying to sneak passed me" Jack said, taking another step closer, "but it ends now."

This was bad. This was bad enough that their relationship wouldn't be able to ever come back from this.

"I'm putting my neck on the line here, and you're keeping secrets" Jack said, his eyes practically burning with bubbling anger.

In a fit of desperation, an idea popped in Will's head. He removed his hand from the bag and revealed a small orange bottle.

Jack picked it up to inspect. "Sleeping pills. Dr. Vogler didn't prescribe you any, so where did you get these?"

Will knew he couldn't just throw Alana under the bus for this. "I was complaining about my insomnia a few days ago" he said, not quite sure where he was going. "And Officer Connelly said he could help me."

"He gave you an entire bottle?"

"He said I needed it more than him."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You better not be lying to me and pinning this on a dead man."

If there was ever a moment when Will felt really scummy, then this was it. But there was no way he was dragging Alana and placing her in front of the anger train that was Jack Crawford.

They drove in silence after that, Will still not quite believing that he was heading home, to his little house that had been his sanctuary from all the horrors of the world. He was aware that his dogs not being there would create a void that he wouldn't be able to ignore. But at least, for now, he had an anchor to hold onto.

Once they had reached to Wolf Trap, Jack turned to look at Will with a grave expression.

"You understand that you're still basically cut off while you're here, don't you?" he asked. "That means no talking to family members or friends or what-have-you."

"That's not going to be a problem, Jack."

Will had a hard time remembering the last time he spoke to anyone in his family. And the few friends he still had left wouldn't be interested in talking to him anyway.

Once they were out of the car, Jack sighed deeply.

"Something wrong?" Will asked.

"I'm just getting a really bad feeling from all of this. We all know what happened the last time I pushed you to do something."

"You're not pushing me, Jack. I'm the one who wants to do this."

"That's exactly what worries me. Now there's nothing to stop you from running off and resuming the path of the copycat killer."

"I'm not a killer" Will said, calmly "and if you truly believed I was one then you wouldn't be putting your job on the line with his plan."

"It's still a lot to risk just because of a hunch."

"It is. But if you have a little faith and things work out, then both of us can come out of this all right."

Jack laughed bitterly. "It's kind of poetic, isn't it? No matter the scenario, we either end up heroes together, or we fall together." He shook his head, and his demeanor changed a bit. "I really need to get home."

Will looked at him briefly. "Jack, I know you're going through something, and even if I'm not sure what it is, you can always tell me."

"I really don't think you want to hear my 'stay out of it' speech again." He turned away and looked towards the car. "But I appreciate it."

"You're just not really good at letting people help you" Will guessed.

"Good to see you've finally caught onto that." He paused. "Good luck. And remember to call me if anything happens."

Jack entered the car, not waiting to see if Will had anything else to say.

As soon as the vehicle pulled away, Will realized just how much he had missed being at home. Because he felt like he could finally think straight. There were no sounds of footsteps or other people talking or snoring or arguing. It was just him and the noise in his mind.

He stepped inside slowly, as if afraid he would disturb something. He had only been away for a few months, but it definitely felt longer than that. Somehow, the living room looked foreign to him, like a faded picture from an album. Will knew what was causing that effect. The seven dogs who always looked so happy to see him at the end of the day were missing and, odds were, they would never come back to their rightful place in front of the fire place.

After unpacking what little had had brought from the hotel, Will inspected the gun. He realized that he hadn't checked how many bullets he had left after shooting after the suspect. Unfortunately, he only had two left.

It looked like he'd have to be really careful how he was going to use them.

Sleep eluded him that night, and after four hours of twisting and turning in bed, Will decided to just call it quits. There was something at the back of his head that was threatening to claw its way out, but for now was still stuck under the surface. Maybe it was a memory or a connection or just something he had been missing. But whatever it was, it was blocked.

Will sat up in his bed and stared at the wall, trying to put things together. When had Dr. Lecter started messing with his head and why? He went back to the day they had their first session and he remembered the man being polite and attentive and normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. He kept cycling through several moments, and landed on the day when he had shot Hobbs. Despite that his memories were slightly foggy and shaken, he could remember just how calm and collected Lecter had been as he kept Abigail's wound closed. He had been a doctor once, and it wasn't that bizarre, but something about his completely unshaken demeanor didn't sit right with Will.

And that wasn't the only one. The day they had went back to Minnesota with Abigail, Alana had blacked out. He knew that Abigail was in the living room dealing with Nicholas Boyle, and that Jack and him were outside. So there was only one possibility left. Will had thought about this scenario before, but refused to believe that Lecter would intentionally try to hurt someone he had once mentored.

But now all the thoughts buzzing in his head told him that he was definitely capable of that. The man was a medical doctor and knew how to incapacitate someone without causing major damage.

The more he thought about him, the worse Will began to felt, because he couldn't believe how easily he had been tricked. There he was, a profiler working for the FBI and he had completely missed seeing who his own psychiatrist was. It was no wonder no one else was willing to listen to him.

Well, almost everyone.

Will swung his legs over the bed and got up. It was still the dead of night and not at all a proper, normal time for a phone call. But then again, nothing about his situation was normal. He dug inside his jacket until he found the card he was looking for.

As he dialed the number, Will felt a laugh coming on. If someone had told him a few months ago that he would actively search out Freddie Lounds' help once day, he wouldn't have believed it in the slightest.

-o-

Will drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. He'd been sitting in his living room staring at nothing in particular and feeling too jumpy to do anything else for what felt like hours.

Eventually, he heard the sounds of an engine somewhere in the distance. Will stepped out onto the porch and saw Freddie stepping out of the car and looking around her.

"I wasn't sure you were serious when you told me where to meet you" she said, once she had walked up to him. "This is just the middle of nowhere, isn't it?"

"I would have picked a public spot, but I'm afraid I don't have a car to drive anymore."

He stood aside to let her in. Will found it truly strange how out of place she looked in his home. Like an inappropriate splash of color in an overall dull and lifeless painting. He couldn't believe that he was beginning to harbor an irrational hate for the red hair and the neon-colored earrings she was wearing.

"Well I certainly didn't expect to see you back home" Freddie said, "let alone without anyone supervising you."

"There are actually a few officers keeping watch from outside."

She eyed him. "Now why don't I believe you?"

"Last we met you told me that you were the only one who did."

She smiled. "Touché. I assume you had an epiphany or something, given the time you choose to call me."

"I'm not sure exactly what happened" Will said, "I just know that I can't sit around anymore."

Once they got settled in the living room, Freddie brought out a legal pad and pen. She furrowed her brows when she noticed Will suddenly looking anxious.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"I just... I remembered that conversation we had. When you said that we're just a bunch of psychopaths helping each other. I never thought I'd be talking to you while actually having a file in a mental institution stating that I'm crazy."

She looked at him. "You're not crazy, Mr. Graham."

"And yet I'm still going to be locked back up once this is all over."

"Not unless we use this opportunity to prove your innocence."

Will shook his head a fraction. "I'm still a bit confused as to why you're helping me, given our history."

"Just because I wrote something about you in the past doesn't mean I believe it. Reporters are paid to write what they're told."

Will still felt apprehensive whenever he looked at her. "I just have this weird feeling. Like you're a little too interested in this. Beyond your responsibility to write an article."

"Abigail was also my friend."

"Funny, she never really talked about you... Just that you were pushing for a book about her to be published."

"Her story needed telling" Freddie said, and then paused to look at him. "You don't trust me."

Will laughed softly. "That's an understatement..."

"Then perhaps we could remedy that."

He looked at her sidelong. "How?"

"I tell you what Dr. Lecter said when we spoke during our last interview. I think you'd find it very interesting."

"Or I could just wait to read the article."

Freddie suddenly smiled and shook her head. Will felt as if she was ready to drop any pretense. "There's no article, Mr. Graham." She paused to look at his surprised expression. "You're right when you say that I'm a little too interested in this. And that's because it's personal. Abigail was a friend and the fact that she just disappeared doesn't sit right with me. And neither does the police or Dr. Lecter's disinterest in the case."

"The lack of interest is because the case was closed after they considered me guilty for her death."

"But you're not" Freddie said. "And I believe you."

Will narrowed his eyes. "Why would you possibly believe me?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense. I've seen you in the field and know the kind of person you are. You sometimes look scared to talk to people, and I'm supposed to believe you could murder someone? I know how much you cared for Abigail and you wouldn't want to hurt her."

"The general consensus is that my illness pushed me to do it" Will said. He suddenly felt very stupid for arguing against his own case.

"Which is why I find Dr. Lecter so fascinating. He was your doctor, one of the best, and yet he couldn't sense that something wrong was happening to you. I find that very strange."

Will decided to let that hang in the air, let Freddie reach her own conclusion.

"You mentioned that you spoke with Dr. Lecter" he said after a while.

"Yes. He seemed very interested in talking about you. And yet he didn't seem to be angry with you killing Abigail. If anything, he actually provided an explanation as to why you would do it. That struck me as odd."

Will let her go on.

"Dr. Lecter mentioned several times that he considered himself a father figure to Abigail. If that was true, if he really did care for her as much as he says, then doesn't logic dictate that he should be furious with you for taking her away? I heard that you had a breakdown when you learned about Abigail's death, but Dr. Lecter seems very stoic about it."

"One could argue that his psychiatry training helps him cope with emotions some other way."

"But training usually goes on the back burner when you deal with something as profound as someone's death."

"That's true."

"So why don't you tell me what you think? Your side of the story."

Will took a deep breath and stared out the window for a second. "I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"Because you're worried I'll use this against you."

He nodded.

"Look at it this way. I'm offering to help you prove your innocence. The only risk is that, for whatever reason, I suddenly decide to make you look insane. And that won't matter once you're sent back to prison."

Will weighed the decision in his head. Freddie Lounds could persuade her way in and out of everything, and she could just be looking out for a story. But at that point, Will had very little to lose. His credibility and dogs had been taken away already. The faith his few friends once had in him was also gone. There wasn't much left.

"All right" he said a little bit too unconvincingly.

Freddie flipped through her legal pad until she reached a page filled with questions. "Then let's start with what you think about Dr. Lecter."

Will's expression changed at the very sound of his name.

"From that I can gather than you very much dislike him" Freddie said.

"You reporters really have a penchant for stating the obvious... Yes, he's not my favorite person. Especially since he framed me."

"What exactly makes you think he framed you?"

"Dr. Lecter has medical training, so he's more than capable of inflicting any manner of horrors on his victims. And he's also a psychiatrist, which means he basically holds a degree in manipulating people. Since I was his patient, he knew details regarding the cases I was working on. Details that weren't otherwise released to the press. It was really easy for him to use them against me."

"So he planted information and gaslit you. Why? Why pick you specifically?"

Will thought for a moment. "Maybe he was curious. Maybe I was his experiment and he just wanted to see what would happen once he set fire to everything in my life."

"What makes you think you were seen as an experiment?"

"He recorded all of his sessions with me. Why would someone do that unless they wanted to have information that they could used against me?"

Freddie's eyes lit up. "All of your sessions are recorded? That's fantastic."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'intrusive'."

"I mean it can be fantastic for your case. If we can get another psychiatrist's view on it, then we can understand what Dr. Lecter was trying to do. We can find out how he was manipulating you."

"You think it's a good idea to bring someone else into this mess?"

"Well, we won't get to the bottom of this without rattling a few cages."

Will smiled slightly. Of course she would be ready to step on more than a few toes to get what she wanted. And it wasn't because she was so determined to clear his name or because she wanted the truth out. It was because Freddie knew that, if her instincts were right, the news would blow up and she would get the recognition she thought she deserved.

And there they were, just as she predicted. Just a couple of people helping each other out even though both of them had a different agenda.

"I managed to dig up something else interesting about Dr. Lecter" she said, "apparently, two people died in his office a few months back. Franklyn Froideveaux and Tobias Budge. I found it surprising that a medical doctor was able to defend himself so well in front of an angry serial killer. And yet the FBI didn't."

"Dr. Lecter could have trained himself in the past for just such a possibility. They didn't think it was uncommon for psychiatrists to receive violent threats from patients."

"And what do you think?"

Will pressed his lips together for a second. "I think Dr. Lecter did something to upset Tobias Budge. Maybe they were friends and something happened that broke their friendship."

"So you believe he had something to do with Mr. Froideveaux's death."

"The thought never entered my head back then. But now if I think about it, there's a very good possibility. It just doesn't make much sense that Tobias Budge would snap Franklyn's neck and then fail to do so with Dr. Lecter."

"What about that training you mentioned?"

"A medical doctor turned psychiatrist being skilled in some form of martial arts?" He shook his head slightly. "It doesn't match."

"I'm thinking a background check could clear a few things up."

"I doubt it. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't let things from his past bleed into the present. I don't think that you'd be able to find anything unless you're willing to dig very deep."

Freddie raised an eyebrow. "And you're not convinced I'm committed to this?"

"I'm not convinced you should be. It seems to be that everyone who's gotten close to this man has ended up hurt one way or the other. If Dr. Lecter catches wind of someone investigating him, things will probably turn really ugly."

"It's interesting how someone who is intimidating can appear so normal. From what I understand, Dr. Lecter has quite a few friends."

"That's because he's a really talented chef."

"You think he hosts dinners just a means to draw people to his side?"

"Lying and manipulating others just to get them on his side... that would make him a bit of a sociopath, now, wouldn't it?"

Freddie just smiled, leafing through her legal pad "Dr. Lecter also had another friend, Dr. Sutcliffe. He was also killed around the same time." She paused. "Three people connected to him ended up dead in only a few months' time. I believe that's a bit too much of a coincidence."

"The evidence is hard to contest."

"So what do you think is really happening? Why all these bizarre circumstances and inaccuracies surrounding Dr. Lecter?"

Silence fell in the house as Will formulated his answer. "I think that certain people like to feel in control of everything, and they want to manipulate others just to see how far they can take it."

"You make him seem like he's some sort of evil scientist."

"I don't think of him as a scientist at all. I think Dr. Lecter is trying to play god."


	9. Cat and Mouse

By the time they finished talking and Freddie had been reasonably happy with the notes in her legal pad, Will noticed the sun rising through his living room windows.

Despite having talked for hours, they still hadn't been able to come to a consensus as to who or what Dr. Lecter was. But Freddie had reassured him that she would poke her nose and investigate his past - as stealthy as she could – and then try to get hold of some of his frequent dinner guests.

As Freddie left the house, Will couldn't help but feel like he had been monumentally stupid in asking her for help. And it wasn't just because it would've been so easy for her to turn on him at any moment. It was because he had a feeling that nothing good could ever come of digging around Dr. Lecter's past. He was now about to poke the proverbial beehive and there was no telling what could happen.

Still, despite the worry, Will found that sleep came to him easily. Maybe it was because he had discussed some of his fears with someone, or maybe it was just fatigue or stress. Either way, Will was glad to be able to get a few hours' worth of sleep.

But his nap was disturbed a few minutes before noon.

The sound of a vehicle approaching his home confused Will, and for a moment he though that he was still stuck in a dream or that Jack had decided to drop by. He quickly got out of bed and glanced through the window. If Will had ever thought he'd want to curse himself because of the deplorable state of his unclean windows, then this was it. But he still attempted to take a look.

He didn't recognize the car. Panic immediately set in, and Will ran for the desk and unlocked it. He picked up the stolen gun and went back towards the door to wait.

The killer wouldn't have been stupid enough to show up so conspicuously, not to mention this early in the day. But Will wasn't taking anymore chances. He listened to the driver kill the engine, then slowly walk up towards the porch.

He placed the hand holding the gun behind his back. And then he opened the door.

Alana greeted him. Will's face instantly turned into a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"Well, good to see you too" she said, obviously noticing his expression. "Didn't get much sleep, I take it?"

It looked like Jack had told her about his new arrangement – and probably lied about his lack of surveillance - but hadn't thought of her dropping by for a visit. And neither had Will.

"Sorry, I just- I didn't recognize your car" he mumbled.

"Well I had to trade my old stalking car for something more roomy" she said, smiling. When Will just looked confused, she added, "Because I now have seven dogs to take of?"

"Right, of course." He stepped backwards to let her in, keeping his back away from her line of sight so that she wouldn't notice the gun.

"So the rest of the books we ordered for you to read in prison finally arrived" she said, and Will noticed a that point that she had about a dozen books in her arms, "so I thought I'd drop them by in case you got bored or needed a distraction or..." She trailed off, looking past Will and into his house. "Weren't you supposed to have two officers with you?"

"He's in the bathroom" Will said maybe a bit too quickly.

"Only one? I didn't expect Jack to go all soft on you all of a sudden."

"They're understaffed."

"Oh, of course. Because the Ripper's back. I heard all about that this morning" she said, walking towards his desk to leave the books.

She kept talking after that, but the words didn't register in Will's head because his eyes were darting all over the room in search of a place to hide the gun. The only thing close enough to him was a trash can he had placed by the door. He quickly dropped the Glock inside while Alana's back was still turned.

"I mean I know that you have your own books to read now that you're back here, but I figured that it can't hurt to have more reading material" she said, facing him again.

Will just nodded, his mind elsewhere.

Alana looked at him for a few moments. "Did something happen? You look all anxious and jumpy."

"No, I'm fine. It's just a bit weird being back home."

"It's just a shame the dogs can't be here, huh?"

Will nodded along, nervous that at any moment she would realize that something was amiss.

"Seriously, what's going?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm just finding it hard to readjust. Three months in a mental facility can do that to someone."

But she wasn't buying it. Alana kept searching his face, knowing that his expression would betray him. "That officer is taking an awful lot of time in the bathroom" she said, her eyes suddenly grave.

Will couldn't help but shake his head a fraction, as if warning her not to go there, not to keep pushing this because it wouldn't be lead to anything good.

"There's no one here, is there?"

He said nothing, certain that the answer was written all over his face anyway.

Alana paused to think for a second. "You're all alone here. And Jack knows, doesn't he?"

"We know that this whole idea is just really risky. But it's the only one we've got."

She frowned. "And exactly what is this idea?"

"Jack thinks that the killer wants to contact me, but can't do it unless I don't have any cops swarming around me."

"So Jack set you free as bait in the middle of nowhere without anything to defend yourself with."

"It's fine, Alana, I can—"

"No, it's not fine. How is it fine? Like it's not bad enough you and Jack are lying to the rest of the FBI but you're also risking your life on a stupid hunch."

Will opened his mouth a few times, unsure of how to say it. In the end he decide to just be honest. "It's not like I've got a whole lot to lose here..."

She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. "Then I guess you forgot that someone's still taking care of your dogs and waiting for 'whenever'."

He glanced away from her. "I'm sorry."

"You know what the sad part is? That you're really not. You made yourself think that the only way you matter is if you sacrifice yourself to catch this man. But it's not. It's not healthy and it's not true."

Will knew there was nothing he could say to that. He couldn't contest it because she had always been so damn good at reading him.

"How's your memory?" she asked as if to change the subject. "Did you remember any more of those times you black out?"

"Not yet. But I read something interesting in one of the books you left me a few days ago."

"What do you mean?"

"That..." he began, his throat suddenly dry, "that psychedelics are supposed to help trigger lost memories."

"That's true. But it's just... it can be wildly inaccurate and dangerous and— you're serious about this?"

"I have to get those memories back. You know I do."

Alana kept her eyes on him. "You're still determined to try to pin something on Hannibal."

Will nodded slightly.

"I've been thinking about this lately" she said, "and I think I get it. Sort of. He's really eccentric and odd and a lot of people take a while to warm up to him. So I can understand why you'd think that he could..." She trailed off. "But, _logically_, I can't see it. I can't see why someone like him would do all the things you said. I mean he quit his previous job when he accidentally caused someone's death."

Will let the last sentence hang in the air, wondering if he should try and say what was on his mind. He risked looking over at her for a moment, expecting to see anger in her features. But there was only confusion mixed with something else he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"If I tell you something" he began "will you promise to keep it just between us?"

"As long as you promise it's not a lie."

Will nodded.

Alana thought about it for a few seconds before answering. "Then all right."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as if the gesture would somehow shield him from her reaction. "Abigail killed Nicholas Boyle."

Alana had to wait a moment before the information registered. "Will, what are you talking about?"

"The day we went to Minnesota with her, Abigail was confronted by Nick Boyle. He was upset over his sister's death, so he attacked Abigail. And she stabbed him in self defense." Will waited a moment before going on. "Both... both Dr. Lecter and me knew about it, but decided to keep things quiet. We didn't want to ruin her life just because she was trying to save herself."

Alana narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand why you're telling me this."

"Just think about what happened that day."

She followed his advice and went back trying to recall. "That was the night I blacked out" she said when the fog lifted. Alana then looked at him, expecting an explanation.

Will suddenly realized that it was a very bad idea telling her about that night. He shook his head while he kept his eyes on her. "You wouldn't believe me."

"You're probably right. But tell me anyway."

"You were about to walk into the room when Abigail killed Boyle."

She frowned. "So she hit me on the back of the head?"

"No." He paused. "Not Abigail."

Alana's look quickly moved from confusion to exasperation. "Will."

"Just listen to me, please. You said you saw and blur and then you blacked out. But Abigail was too busy freaking out over Boyle's death, and the rest of us were outside. The only one who could have done it was him."

"Hannibal is my friend and was my mentor once, and you expect me to believe that he'd intentionally try to hurt me?"

"He was trying to protect Abigail, someone who he saw as his surrogate daughter. He wouldn't have done anything in his power to keep the murder from being discovered."

She looked at him with narrow eyes. "You're really serious about this."

"I am."

"Then you wouldn't mind if I asked Hannibal about—"

"No!" Will was surprised by how loud he had suddenly got. He tried to calm himself. "I'm sorry. But until we figure out what's going on, you shouldn't talk to him in person."

Alana sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Now you're getting me worried."

"Just stay away from him for a while."

"Not worried for me" she said, frowning. "For him. Now that you're released you could just walk into his home and-" She stopped herself. "This isn't right."

"I wouldn't hurt him." Not unless it was necessary, Will thought.

"I'm finding it very hard to believe that after what happened the last time you two were in the same room together" she said, her voice touched by anger.

He closed his eyes for a moment. "You know why I wouldn't do anything drastic? Because he obviously means a lot to you. And I have to respect that." When she stayed quiet, Will tried to gauge her expression, but she didn't look particularly upset by his words, just worried. "Are you going to talk to Dr. Lecter about this?"

After an abnormally long pause, she said, "It's not really my place, is it?"

Will waited a while longer, expecting her to go on. But the room fell silent.

"Thank you" he said eventually.

"I feel like I've got the headache of the century rifling in my head" she said softly. "You'd think that my training would help me figure this whole mess out, but..."

Will felt the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Alana, you're a skilled psychiatrist. One of the best I've met. But you have a big blind spot when it comes to the people you care about."

Something seemed to click in her head, and she looked away for a moment, lost in thought. But whatever her realization was, it quickly seemed to disappear when she sighed.

"I left the books on your desk." And she headed for the door.

"Alana" he said, and she stopped at the threshold. "Are you going to report Jack and me for doing this?"

She looked like she was thinking about it, but then suddenly shook her head.

Will didn't want to ask, but the question still managed to find its way out. "Why not?"

"Why do you think?" When Will kept looking at her with a frown, she added, "It's true that I may have a blind spot, but you're just clueless about the people who you care about."

And she left without another word. Will could have sworn he saw her smile a bit before turning away.

-o-

A few wisps of ash fell from his cigarette as the man stood in the shadows, watching. Dr. Hannibal Lecter's house was definitely a sight to see. It didn't look grand or spectacular and, quite frankly, it failed to turn heads. But what made it magnificent was that it just looked so normal. So mundane. You wouldn't even think that the owner was the Chesapeake Ripper himself.

The man took a few more puffs of his cigarette while straining to catch a glimpse of something through the windows. But all he could make out were dozens of silhouettes. By the sound of it, Lecter was having a party of sorts.

Which was just ridiculous. A serial killer with friends? The man would have laughed if, deep down, he wasn't so damn envious. It wasn't fair for someone like Lecter to have a proper house and friend and life. Not when he was such a monster on the inside. He didn't deserve anything he had.

He was tempted to just throw caution to the window and simply crash the party. Start shooting all his friends and make him watch. But, knowing him, Lecter probably would have found the idea of cleaning up after him more bothersome than the actual deaths of all his guests.

No, he'd have to pick another time. Until them he could just sit and watch.

-o-

The dinner had proved to be a success, as always, but Hannibal still couldn't help but feel slightly perturbed.

The food looked and tasted amazing, and his guests were enjoying themselves. And yet there was something at the back of his head that told him something was amiss. It was something alike to feeling as if you were being watched.

As he struggled to understand this feeling, his ears suddenly picked up something from one chair over.

"Pardon me, but what were you saying?" he asked one of the women to his left.

"Oh, this young lady came over to the club yesterday and asked me a few questions. Something about media and how we perceive news and all that. I didn't really understand, if I'm honest. I don't watch the news much these days."

"Did you happen to catch this woman's name by any chance?"

"It must've been Jessica or Margret Something, I think? I'm sorry, my memory isn't what it used to be."

Hannibal nodded, but returned his attention to his plate, disappointed. Even if his acquaintances were being interviewed, chances were that the reporter would use a fake name.

"I can tell you one thing, though" the woman went on, "that young lady had the most beautiful curly, red hair. I'm honestly jealous, I really am."

A suddenly small smile came over Hannibal's expression. Things were suddenly becoming interesting yet again.

-o-

The next days passed quickly for Will, leaving him filled with anxiety and anticipation. He didn't like it that nothing seemed to be happening because it sounded too much like a calm before the storm.

Freddie Lounds had seemed to fall off the face of the earth because no matter how many times he called, he couldn't reach her. Every time he heard the machine pick up, Will felt a pang of guilt and worry, and he hoped that she was just too busy to answer.

He had also called Jack and asked him about the case and the Ripper, but besides the usual dead ends the team were following, nothing new had happened.

Will was left in his house, alone and fighting his own demons. Despite being the complete opposite of a social butterfly, he couldn't help but feel like he was about to climb the walls if he stayed in one place much too long. He needed to be on the scene or working with Jack and the team because staying at home doing nothing was getting him nowhere. He glanced towards his desk, but the books Alana left him, interesting as they were, just weren't enough to keep him distracted.

After several hours of pacing in his home Will decided that there was no point in putting it off any longer. Despite the fact that he'd have to reveal to yet another person what was really going on with his release, he knew that one more secret added to the bunch wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run.

He wouldn't be reported because Dr. Lecter seemed to be having just too much fun with his situation.

-o-

It was strange to see his former psychiatrist inside his home. His sanctuary where he felt no one could ever reach or invade. And yet there he was, sitting across from his sofa, waiting patiently for him to speak.

Will knew that this was the best place to have their conversation. Although he was somewhat away from his comfort zone, Will needed to do this outside the office, the formal area where Dr. Lecter could feel at home and safe and on his territory. Because this time he wasn't a patient anymore, he wasn't someone who was opening his mind to prodding and probing. This time Will was searching for answers himself. And he wouldn't back down.

He knew that Hannibal was also aware of what he was trying to do, but most probably found it interesting or maybe even fun. Will doubted that he often began cat-and-mouse games with any of his former patients.

"You don't have to feel nervous, Will" Hannibal said, misinterpreting his silence. "Don't think of it as therapy. We are not in my office, so this is just a conversation between two people."

Will noted that he had avoided the word 'friends'. "Then I can speak frankly."

"Of course."

"All right." Will took a breath and tried to look him in the eye. "Is being a really good liar a prerequisite to becoming a psychiatrist?" When Hannibal looked at him with slight surprise, he added, "You were really quick on your toes around Jack when he asked why were at the scene with me."

"And why do you assume I was lying at all? A half truth isn't a lie, it's merely an omission."

He was also really good at talking himself out of most situations.

"The omission being that you had just followed me there instead of being alerted by the police."

"I surely doubt that Jack would have understood my worry regarding someone who had once tried to attack me."

Will had to agree that he was right on that front.

"How do you feel about having a stolen gun in your possession?" Hannibal asked suddenly.

Will smiled a fraction. "I thought psychiatry was supposed to be a bit more subtle than bluntly asking me how I feel about something. Otherwise, I could just ask you something like that."

Hannibal shrugged ever so slightly. "Please do."

Will was a bit taken aback by how easily Hannibal could morph and go along with anything so naturally. He didn't look nervous in the least. Perhaps it was his way of acknowledging that the game was on.

"How do you feel about going behind Jack Crawford's back?" Will asked "You saw me take a shot with a stolen gun and yet you said nothing."

"Jack is my friend. But there are certain things that would not benefit him should he know."

"I always thought you were the type of man who abides by the rules, Dr. Lecter."

"Any rule can be bent until it takes up the meaning you want it to."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, doctor?"

"It is often rare that anyone can be truthful all of the time. But not all lies are harmful or destructive. Some of them can even protect people. Such as the gun in your possession. Provided it is used with good intentions."

Will had to admit that Dr. Lecter was good at what he did. In only a few sentences, he had managed to circle right back to the original question he wanted answered.

"The only reason I took it in the first place was because I was trying to stop a criminal."

"And when you couldn't, you became frustrated and tried to kill him."

"I didn't try to kill him" Will said, digging his hand into the arm of the sofa. "I just wanted to stop him. And I was a bit panicky and out of practice - I can admit I'm not the best shooter in the FBI – but I never tried to murder anyone."

"It is interesting" Hannibal said pensively.

"What is?"

"You said that you are not the best shooter in the FBI. So you still consider yourself as being part of law enforcement."

Will wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Well, who are we without an identity label?"

Hannibal smiled, but it was barely visible. "Yes, where would we be?"

"I'd be lost" Will said honestly. "What about you, doctor?"

"I would feel the pressure to be someone else. But I wouldn't fall under it. I would struggle to find my proper identity."

So identity was important to him. But then wouldn't he feel frustrated if he wouldn't be able to show his real face to the world?

"What do you think makes a man who he is?" Will asked.

"That is a question philosophers have asked themselves for centuries."

"And what's the answer?"

The corner of Hannibal's lips curled up. "Would you indulge me for a minute and answer the question yourself?"

Of course he would try to weasel out of it. Will spent a few seconds trying to come up with a reply that would somehow ruffle Hannibal's feathers. That would get him to respond and let him see a glimpse of who he really was.

"I believe a man amounts to who he is on the inside. What he really thinks and feels and not how he wants to act in front of the world's eyes."

"You believe that it is more important what a person feels and thinks rather than what he does in front of everyone else." He waited for Will to nod before going on. "It sounds very disjointed. Like the person is really two different people. Do you often feel like you're being split, Will?"

He was getting back to personal now, and Will decided to steer away from it. "Isn't that how everyone really is, doctor? A personality fabricated to be as normal as possible, to show in front of the world. But, deep down inside we're all different. We all think different things that society would frown upon."

"Such as taking a life?"

"I can't speak from my own experience, but yes."

"Do you feel guilty over what happened to Officer Connelly?"

Will struggled not to show any signs that, in a way, he did. "No."

"You don't seem so certain of that."

"Dr. Lecter, I was handcuffed to a radiator when it all happened. Believe me when I tell you that I couldn't have done anything to stop it."

"But your empathy was once all-consuming. I find it strange that the death of someone who watched you for a number of days doesn't affect you all that deeply."

"Would it affect you?"

"I believe it would. Especially if I had shot at someone few days before."

Will almost laughed at how good Lecter was at circling right back to the things he wanted to know. "I was only doing my job."

"And yet there's still a very good chance that you killed that man" Hannibal said.

"I don't know what you think you saw, but I didn't murder anyone."

"Denial is one of the steps of-"

"I'm not depressed, Dr. Lecter."

"Your doctor at the Baltimore State Hospital said otherwise."

Will frowned at that. "What do you know about Dr. Vogler?"

"Jack told me that he left on holiday, so I talked to the staff there to let me see your file."

"I didn't hear anything about him going on holiday. I thought he went missing."

Hannibal paused for a moment. "The stress was too much for him to bear, I'm afraid. Such things happen to people in this field once they pass their fiftieth birthday."

"What about you?" Will asked.

"I believe I'm still well enough adjusted to deal with my patients."

"Even after one held you at gunpoint?"

Hannibal smiled, and the gesture made Will feel uneasy. "Even then. Especially since an illness was the underlying cause of it all, not the patient himself."

Will couldn't help but flash right back to that day in Minnesota when he had been so close to shooting him. So close. And now they were in his home, sitting and chatting as if nothing was wrong.

"Will?" Hannibal asked, looking at him curiously.

"I'm just finding it hard to understand why you would agree to talk to me after all that happened."

"No matter what took place in that house, I still consider you someone who is important."

Again, he had omitted the word 'friend'. Or 'patient'. "How come you aren't helping the FBI with the case?" Will asked suddenly.

"I have a few too many patients at the moment and couldn't spare much time."

"Well they're becoming short staffed pretty quickly. The Chesapeake Ripper is back."

Hannibal's left eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. Will was glad that all his time struggling to make eye contact was finally paying off. So, the doctor seemed interested in the Ripper case, but didn't want to let him know.

"Would you be interested to work on the Ripper case if your patients would ever thin out?" Will asked. He hoped he hadn't sounded too eager to ask that question.

"The Ripper is certainly a captivating case to work on, but I doubt I'd be able to be of much assistance."

"Why not?"

"Jack asked me for advice on this case before, and I wasn't able to help him."

Will wondered why someone as skilled as Hannibal hadn't been able to track down the Ripper. Maybe he was just too fascinated by the case's brutality to want him to stop.

"He's clever, isn't he?" Will asked. "Evading the FBI for so long. Which is strange considering what the statistics say. Most serial killers have a below average IQ."

"That is true. But exceptions are bound to appear eventually."

"What do you think he's like? On those days he doesn't kill."

"Are your thoughts heading towards more morbid subjects again, Will?" Hannibal asked, trying to look worried.

"Let's just call it professional curiosity."

"I believe the Chesapeake Ripper is hard to detect as all that different from anyone else on his day to day life."

"So he hides in plain sight."

"Much like you and me."

"Are you saying that we're both similar to a murderer?"

"What I'm saying is that every killer is human. Some of them more than others. And they manage to hide among whose of us who are attempting to do the same."

Will shook his head. "I very much doubt I hide in plain sight, doctor. I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. My face has been in pretty much every paper."

"That doesn't mean you don't hide who you are. Outside of work, you make attempts to not show the world that you empathize so easily."

"What about you? Do you hide from the world?" Will asked, and he noticed there was always the flicker of a smile on Hannibal's face when he asked a question. They both knew they were basically interrogating each other.

"I'm a psychiatrist, Will, I'm always forced to hide in plain sight. It is unethical to reveal information about myself to some of my patients because they could attempt to use that information against me."

Will raised an eyebrow. "But you told me about your life."

"That's because we didn't always talk within the confides of a psychiatric session. We were two friends making conversation."

"Is that what you're doing now?"

Hannibal waited a moment before answering. "I don't believe we've reached the point where we're ready to become friends again."

"And yet we're casually talking about crimes and serial killers."

"I don't believe we've covered crimes yet, have we?"

Will wondered how far he could go on talking about trivial things before Hannibal would steer him back to the Ripper case. He was tempted to try, but it would only be wasted time.

"I've actually reconstructed one of the Chesapeake Ripper's latest scenes" Will said, and noticed a spark of interest in Hannibal's eyes.

"And what did you find?"

Will decided to see just how much he could rattle him by insulting the killer Hannibal seemed so fascinated with. "He's getting sloppy. The Ripper used to be one of the best at eluding the police, but now his bodies just show up out of the blue. I'd go out on a limb and say that he's losing his skills. Or, more likely, he's already lost them."

"That is an interesting perspective."

"And what's your take on it, doctor?"

Hannibal's mouth formed a line as he thought for a moment. "I think there might be other dynamics at play here."

"You mean someone interfering?"

"Or perhaps the Ripper is simply toying with the FBI."

Will tried to look doubtful. "I really don't think he's that smart."

"I don't believe it would be wise to underestimate a serial killer."

"I don't plan to, I just don't think we're dealing with a mastermind. People age and start losing their grasp after a while."

"Isn't that when they become most dangerous?" Hannibal asked. "You try to corner a wounded animal and suddenly you find yourself being attacked with viciousness you never thought existed."

Will shook his head. "I doubt the Ripper would come after someone like me. I don't really have anything left in my life to lose."

"There is always something to lose, Will."

"Even if that's true, once you reach a certain point, nothing can really affect you anymore."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you weren't feeling depressed."

"I prefer to see it as realistic apathy. But there's one think I can't really wrap my mind around."

"And what's that?"

"While I was locked up, I went through all range of emotions, some of them I never thought would ever surface. Needless to say that I felt like my very core had been shaken." Will suddenly looked at Hannibal. "And you had a patient die in front of your very eyes. A doctor friend murdered viciously. A surrogate daughter killed, and another patient suddenly accused of being behind that death. And yet you never look rattled in the least."

"Some of us process strong emotions in different ways. And, in my case, I made use of my training to help me cope with what was happening."

Will leaned forward in his seat. "But this is death we're talking about. It always brings out this primitive response in us. That's why some people cry at funerals – it's completely useless, but it's just impossible to control. Someone shouldn't be able to stay so emotionless in the face of a life being snuffed out."

"I'm not desensitized to it, Will, I've merely grown to understand how to handle the situation. You forget that this isn't the first time I've had to face the death of someone I could have saved. And one could argue that the same can be said about you."

Will let a small pause pass between then before smiling. "You're really good. No matter what happens, you manage to steer the conversation so that it benefits you."

"I did say once that we're more alike than you think, didn't I?" Hannibal said, smiling slightly.

-o-

Hours after Hannibal had left, Will couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still in his home. He sat in front of his unlit fireplace and waited for the feeling to subside. But the minutes ticked by and nothing changed. Until the phone ringing almost sent him jumping out of his skin.

He picked up the receiver and heard a familiar voice.

"Ms. Lounds" he said, relieved, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's great to hear your voice again."

"I noticed you've been trying to contact me these passed few days, but I was a little to busy to reply.

"I was mostly worried that our luck ran out and something happened to you."

"Luck doesn't just run out, Mr. Graham, you make your own."

"What did you find out?"

"I had to be subtle but I managed to get my hands on the names of the some of the guests Dr. Lecter frequently has for dinner. I interviewed a few but didn't get much headway. Most of them just see him as a little eccentric and nothing else."

"Did you try that background check?"

"That was a little tricky since it's rather illegal if you're a mere journalist like me. But I didn't find out something. It looks like Dr. Lecter's only living relative is his uncle. No mentions of parents, siblings, cousins or other family members. Nothing. I thought it was odd, so I kept digging. And then I hit a wall."

"I did say it wouldn't be easy finding out about his past."

"But that just raises more suspicion, doesn't it? Why would someone actively hide their past unless they had something to cover up? He's either the world's most private man or something's going on." She sighed. "What about you, did you find out something?"

"I had a chat with him today. And Dr. Lecter seems to have a fascination with the Chesapeake Ripper."

"Well I wouldn't consider that too strange. The case is interesting to follow."

"He seemed somewhat ticked off when I said that the Ripper is losing his edge."

"You think they could be working together?"

"I wouldn't put it passed him. It would make sense why he hasn't been able to help Jack crack the case."

Freddie paused. "Either way, without any kind of proof, it's all speculation for now."

"Isn't that pretty much what journalists do all the time?"

"I didn't think I'd hear you making jokes quite so soon, Mr. Graham. In any case, I'll be digging more into his past until something pops."

"Just make sure not to be too obvious in what you're doing."

"Sooner or later we'll have to leave the shadows and the stealth behind and confront Dr. Lecter head-on."

Will shook his head. "Bad idea. You said it yourself, he was able to defend himself in front of Franklyn's attacker almost too well. Imagine what he'll do when he's not taken by surprise."

"Then you obviously don't know how deep a journalist's determination runs. I'm not backing down just because there's a chance he might get upset."

"This isn't about proving something, Ms. Lounds, this is about keeping your life."

Silence suddenly fell on the other line and, for a moment Will thought she had hung up on him.

"You know why I believe you're not a killer?" she asked suddenly.

Will just waited for her to answer.

"Because here you are doing your best to keep me from getting hurt."

"How do you know I'm not just putting on a show?"

Freddie laughed. "You might be a skilled profiler, Mr. Graham. But you're a pretty bad liar."

Will wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or upset.

A few hours after the phone call, Will heard a car pulling up close to his home. This time he recognized it as Jack's. Will went over on the porch to greet him.

"What happened?" he asked, noting the tension in Jack's movements.

"We caught an armed man who was trying to sneak into the morgue after hours. He was heading for Officer Connelly's body. And judging by the footage we pulled from the hotel cameras, it looked to be the same man who shot him."

"You caught our killer?" Will asked, frowning. This seemed way too easy.

"We've got him over in an interrogation room, but he's not talking to us." Jack took a deep breath. "But he asked specifically for you."

It took a few seconds for Will to realize what Jack had just said. "Me? You're—you're sure?"

"As far as we know, there was only one copycat killer who's helping the FBI. So let's get going."

The ride to the headquarters was, as Will predicted, quiet and somewhat uncomfortable. Will still wasn't sure what he would say once they reached that interrogation room or if anything he could say would help at all.

The killer would mention the fact that Will had shot at his accomplice, probably murdering him in the process. And just like that, Will would be sent right back to his cell in prison. Because he had been stupid enough to bend a rule and try to catch the killer he was supposed to in the first place.

But why hadn't the killer simply told the FBI about all of this without his presence? Maybe he wanted to use it for leverage. Maybe he'd attempt to blackmail him. Whatever the reason, Will's prospects didn't look good.

He glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye and wondered if he should just come clean right there and then. Just endure the anger train that was Jack Crawford in the car and not in front of an audience of FBI agents.

But his mouth stayed shut all the way to the FBI headquarters.

-o-

"I don't think this is our guy" Brian said, shaking his head.

Will couldn't believe that, for once, he agreed with him.

"Our killer was clever enough to avoid us for so many months and now all of a sudden he shows up on our doorstep? He's either an idiot, or just the killer's patsy."

"It's not that unusual for a serial killer to lose his focus and make a mistake" Beverly chimed in. "He was probably tired after so many weeks of running and didn't think straight."

"It just seemed a little to easy, doesn't it?" Jimmy asked, narrowing his eyes. "And why would he want to talk to the Copycat Killer all of a sudden." He paused, sensing Will's gaze on him. "No offense."

"Whatever the reason is, we're going to find out what's inside his head one way or another" Jack said. He motioned for Will to go inside.

"What am I supposed to tell him exactly?" Will asked, feeling more and more uneasy at the prospect of having a conversation with a killer while the FBI team watched through the one-way window.

"Obviously nothing the press doesn't know. Just get him to talk."

Without the situation made any clearer, Will found himself pushing the door and stepping inside the interrogation room. Will almost froze the moment his eyes laid on him.

It wasn't the killer. It was the same man who had tried to drop the box the night Will had stolen the gun. He was alive.

"Didn't expect to see me again, huh?" the man asked, slightly amused.

Will took a seat in front of him, trying not to look shaken. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

"Because those idiots out there are all kinds of boring. Sure, they can talk and talk all they want but at the end of the day they're just not remarkable. Now, you on the other hand? I'm curious about."

"I'm really not that interesting."

"Are you kidding? The great Copycat Killer who ate a human ear and suffered from some sort of delirium is now working for the feds. I find that plenty fascinating."

Will thought for a moment. "If I tell you why I'm helping them, will you tell me why you tried breaking into the morgue?"

The man shrugged, looking as if he didn't care one way or the other. "Sure."

"I'm not the Copycat Killer. I was framed, and by helping the FBI I want to try and clear my name."

He laughed. "And you think it's gonna work?"

"It's either this or go back to my cell and stare at the ceiling So tell me why you tried to sneak into the morgue after hours."

"Well I had to finish the job, didn't I? That hair and skin isn't going to cut itself."

Will eyed him for a moment. "They're not trophies, are they? If they were, then you'd keep them to yourself."

"You already know I don't have any interest in that sort of stuff."

"Because you're just an accomplice."

"That 'just' word sounds really nasty, doesn't it?

"How much is he paying you to do this?"

The man looked amused. "And here I thought the feds hired you cause you were smart." He paused. "You really think I'd tell you anything about that?"

"Might as well. You won't be walking out of here any time soon, so you won't get to spend your money. What's the point of keeping his secret?"

"What's the point of keeping any secret, then? You know, I got shot about a week ago. Funny story, that. Would you like to hear it?"

Will was glad that his back was to the window, so that the team wouldn't be able to see that his expression had changed.

"You wouldn't want to talk to me just so you could ask why I'm helping the FBI" Will said, trying to change the subject.

"And there's those smarts I heard about. Good for you, Mr. Graham."

"So why?"

The man took a deep breath and then smiled. "You know, I think I'd rather let you figure it out yourself. Give you something to chew on while those feds attempt to lock me up."

"You're taking the downfall for a man who's paying you. You're not friends or family, you're only doing this for money. You're risking your life for money."

"Oh, that's good" he said, looking a bit taken aback. "They don't call you a skilled profiler for nothing. What else have you got rattling in that head of yours?"

The man's uninterested attitude was sending red flags in Will's mind. He had been sloppy on purpose. He had wanted to be caught. But why?

"If you can help us-" Will began.

"You'll what? Reduce my sentence? Thanks, but I'll take my chances. Besides, it's gonna be pretty fun watching you lot scramble to figure this whole thing out." He then sighed and sat back in his chair, watching the mirror in the room.

Once the man refused to speak anymore, Will had to leave the room. Outside, he was greeted by the team's surprised expressions.

"So he's just an accomplice" Brian said, looking disappointed. "So much for thinking we'd finally had our guy."

"This is good, he can still be useful to us" Jack said.

"He did it on purpose, Jack" Will said, after closing the door behind him.

"The killer is sending us another message?"

"Whatever it is, it's... hazy."

Jack looked back at the window leading to the interrogation room.

"Why didn't you question him how and why he was shot?" Jimmy asked suddenly.

Will struggled to think fast. "He was bluffing."

"How can you tell?"

"He was just trying to get the conversation side-tracked."

"He didn't look all that skittish with the details" Beverly said, "He wants us to know that his boss thinks himself above us. I just don't understand why he's willing to go to prison for some money he'll never even get to spend."

"Maybe our guy promised him something else" Brian ventured. "Or made him believe he'd get qa helping hand in his escape."

"Either way" Jack said, "he's not going anywhere anytime soon. Even if he admitted to being an accomplice, we'll still treat him like a main suspect."

It wasn't much, but at least they finally something to go on.

-o-

Checking the news revealed that no more of his past victims had managed to become unearthed. Hannibal smiled to himself before putting the paper away. Perhaps things could settle down for a while.

But the doorbell ringing suddenly made him think otherwise. He walked over and glanced through the peep hole. Freddie Lounds stood at his doorstep, her very colorful clothing almost burning the eye. She was a very brazen young woman indeed.

"Ah, Ms. Lounds" he said, after opening the door, "to what do I owe this unannounced presence?"

"I apologize that I haven't called before, but I'm working on a tight schedule and lacked the time. But I was hoping you could answer a few more questions I had regarding that article I told you about last week?"

Hannibal regarded her for a moment and saw her as a small but very volatile little bug that simply wouldn't stop trying to get under everyone's skin.

"I suppose I do have a bit of time" he said, smiling politely. "Please come in."


	10. Games

Will's nerves felt as if they had been stretched to their limit. He hadn't spoken to Freddie Lounds in over a week, and now she had stopped answering her phone once again. Despite his efforts, he simply couldn't get hold of her.

He had stopped trying to convince himself that she was too busy to check her messages. Because it had become quite clear that she was missing.

Will thought back to their last conversation when she mentioned that there would come a time when playing it safe wouldn't be an option.

Which is why he had decided to agree seeing Dr. Lecter for another conversation between two acquaintances. Except this time it was at Hannibal's home.

"I heard you've got a lead in the case" Hannibal said. "Something about a potential suspect who had basically stumbled right onto the FBI's doorstep."

"It's not much of a lead so far. He's still refusing to talk to us."

"Jack mentioned that he requested to speak to you personally."

"He did. And I'm still not sure why..." He paused, realizing that Jack and Hannibal had still kept a rather tight friendship during his incarceration. "You're close with Jack." Will wasn't certain if he had meant it as a question or a statement.

Hannibal nodded once. "I like to think so. We often have dinner together."

"He's been slightly distant with me lately. Not that I blame him. But I wonder if there's anything going on in his life. Jack changed once he found what that his wife was sick, but now... I get the feeling something else happened while I was locked up."

"It's hard to imagine what Jack is going through at the moment. It's understandable why he would want to keep his distance."

"I just keep wondering how he's able to keep things together. A sick wife, and he's already working two cases and has me to worry about... I called him a few weeks ago and thought I heard him being in a bar during work hours. It might've been just my imagination, though. Jack is stronger than that."

Hannibal kept quiet, something that Will found unusual. He tried searching his face, but couldn't figure out what he was supposed to read. A few moments passed until Will realized that the silence meant that he was right in his guess.

"He's really drinking to cope, isn't he?" A small, almost imperceptible nod from Hannibal followed. "Did you talk to him about it?"

Hannibal glanced away for a moment. "I am not his doctor, Will."

"You don't have to be, just give him some advice, just talk to him. We can't let him spiral down because of this."

"He is in charge of his own life. We have no business interfering."

"You said you're his _friend_."

Hannibal pressed his lips together. "Jack Crawford is a man who doesn't appreciate people dispelling advice. He wouldn't be able to listen to me unless he would choose to do so. And at this moment he doesn't."

"So we're supposed to just let him be alone in this until— until what? He goes down a hole so deep he won't be able to climb out of?"

"Some people have to reach rock bottom before they are ready to let themselves be helped."

Will was surprised just how cold and clinical Hannibal was speaking about someone he considered a friend. If he still had any reservations about the kind of man Dr. Lecter was, then at that moment they dissipated. Will was standing in front of someone who would enjoy seeing someone struggle and be in pain because it was interesting for him. Because he wanted to see how they would react to such a situation.

For someone who had spent all his incarcerated time feeling like a monster because of where he had ended up, Will couldn't understand how the man in front of him could simply live his life the way he did. Pretending to be normal all the while lying and pushing people to do things they wouldn't even consider otherwise.

A sudden headache struck Will and he got off his seat before he was even aware of it.

"Will?" Hannibal asked, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"I'm just not feeling—I've got to-" Will placed a hand to his head to keep it from exploding.

"The bathroom's right down the hall" Hannibal said, not the least bit bothered by his change of demeanor.

Will just nodded once before walking off.

Inside the bathroom, he used the sink to splash some water on his face. But when the dizziness refused to leave, Will found himself sitting down on the tiled floor and holding his head.

A few minutes passed before he could gather his bearings, and soon enough, Will felt reasonable enough to go outside. He was about to get back to his feet when something caught his eye.

Something glossy and violet colored was lying under the bathroom cabinet. Will narrowed his eyes but he couldn't tell what it was, so he moved closer and stretched out his hand to grab the object. When he finally dragged it out from under the cabinet, Will stared at it, frowning.

An earring.

Will's first thought was that Hannibal must have had a dinner party recently, but realization quickly dawned on him. It was the same earrings that Freddie Lounds had worn when they had last met.

-o-

Will sat up in his bed that night, staring at the earring in his hand.

If it had been any man other than Dr. Lecter, he would have believed that Freddie Lounds had simply dropped the earring and then forgot about it. But this was a man who liked to gaslight people and then send them on their way. It wasn't too much of a stretch to think that Hannibal would kill if he thought that someone was attempting to unearth his past.

Will needed to talk to someone about this, but the closest ally he had relied on was gone.

Night crawled by so slowly that Will thought for a moment that it would never end. He had spent it all going back and forth between decisions. The decision to tell Jack about his finding or not. The decision to beg the FBI to storm Dr. Lecter's home and maybe find whatever was left of Freddie Lounds. But all these scenarios were unlikely and incriminating to no one but himself, and the frustration was gnawing at Will's mind.

Eventually, he decided that he couldn't keep the information to himself anymore. When daylight reached his home, Will picked up the phone.

Several more hours passed until he finally heard the sound of screeching car tires. Alana was on his porch when he opened the door.

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me what this all about over the phone" she said. "What's going on?"

"About a week and a half ago I spoke with Freddie Lounds."

Alana frowned deeply. "But you hate journalists."

"I needed someone who would be willing to listen to me. And a few days ago she stopped replying to my calls."

Alana suddenly narrowed her eyes, remembering something. "Didn't she go missing right about that time?"

"She didn't go missing, Alana. She was killed."

"And why do you think that?"

Will dug inside his pocket and revealed an earring in his palm. "I found this under a bathroom counter. At Dr. Lecter's house."

There was anger in Alana's eyes. Pure, unmitigated anger, and, for a moment, Will thought she would ball her hand into a fist and send it flying into his face. But she just shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed at him with intensity.

"This obsession you have with him as to stop, Will."

"But this isn't-"

"I'm not joking, this has to stop before-"

"He taped all of our sessions" he said suddenly.

Alana's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Will went over to the desk in his living room and began to dig inside. As soon as he found the recorder he pressed play. The sound of their first session began, and Alana's eyes widened.

"I found this in his house, hidden. And all of the sessions are here" Will said, cycling through them. "All of them."

Alana just stared at the recorder with confusion. She then shook her head. "Why would he do this?"

"He wanted to have something to use against me. He must've planned it weeks in advance."

"But I just— It doesn't make any sense. This isn't like him."

"He's really good at faking who he is."

"No, this can't be—" She sighed. "I need to talk to him and straighten this out."

Alana made for the door, but Will quickly stepped in front of her and blocked the exit. "You can't."

"Get out of my way" she said, frustration bubbling right underneath the surface.

"I can't just let you-"

"Will!"

"He's going to kill you!"

For a moment, the room instantly fell into complete stillness. Alana just stared at him in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry" he said, barely a whisper. "I'm really sorry, but I know it in my gut that he'd do anything in his power to keep his secrets hidden."

She took a second to compose herself. "He may have crossed the patient-doctor confidentiality line – and that's incredibly unethical and rude of him - but that doesn't make him a killer."

"Alana, I just showed you proof that Freddie Lounds disappeared after being in Dr. Lecter's home and you still refuse to believe it. Remember when I told you that you have a blind spot for the people you care about?"

She glared at him. "You mean like what happened with you?"

Alana waited a moment to let it sink in before moving him aside and opening the door.

"I didn't kill anyone" Will said, trying to sound confident, "and I think, deep down, you know it's true, but you refuse to believe it because that opens the possibility that the very man who mentored you is a monster." When she stopped on the threshold, he went on. "You keep letting yourself be blind to what's really going on because the alternative is that all this time you couldn't see who he really was."

Alana narrowed her eyes. "You're psychoanalyzing _me_ now?"

A small moment of silence passed between them.

"Am I right?" Will asked, almost too quiet for her to hear.

There must have been an inner battle going on, because Alana was still in the same spot, her gaze a million miles away. She suddenly took a deep breath, as if realizing how tired it was. "I really need to go."

"Promise me you won't talk to Lecter" Will said.

"I don't think it's any of your business what-"

"If there was _ever_ a moment when you trusted me, then believe me when I tell you that nothing good would come from questioning him."

Alana chewed her lip and then let out an exasperated breath. "All right" she said eventually. She turned to leave.

A bullet exploded on the sill above her.

Before a second one could connect, Will had already pulled Alana back inside the house and slammed the door shut. They both hunkered down in the living room, keeping low and away from the windows.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"I think Jack's plan is panning out. Just not in a way either of us hoped."

The window next to them shattered on one corner, sending a shower of glass onto the floor.

"Do you have your cell phone?" Will asked her.

She nodded and searched her pocket. "I'll get hold of Jack."

"Good, just stay here."

Will made a move to head to the other side of the room, but she grabbed his arm. "What're you doing?"

"Things are going to turn ugly really fast. And I'd rather not be caught empty handed."

She stared at him for a second. "You have a gun." Alana wasn't sure if she felt perplexed or relieved.

"I know how this looks, but I only used it in self defense."

Another window was shattered by bullets, causing both Alana and Will to stay rooted to the spot.

Footfalls began to sound somewhere outside, and Will could tell by the familiar creaking noise that it was coming from his porch.

"Come out, Mr. Graham" a voice said, "There's really no point in vandalizing your home."

The voice wasn't familiar, and that meant the FBI still had the accomplice in custody. Will was certain that the killer himself was now sitting on his porch, ticked off by having someone he had worked suddenly end up behind bars.

"How did you know where I live?" Will asked.

"I thought you'd have figured it out by now." A moment of silence. "Okay, I'll make it easy for you: Sammy didn't just wander into the morgue like an imbecile. He was supposed to get caught so that we could coax you in that interrogation room."

A few seconds later, the dots connected in Will's mind. "You followed me home that night."

"Bingo."

"Then why didn't you kill me then? It would've been easier that night."

"You weren't that high on priority list back then. Besides, I don't know if you've ever tried this, but attempting to kill someone in the dark is pretty damn difficult. I prefer daylight. And just my luck that you live in the middle of fucking nowhere. So why don't you show your face so we can settle this? Just us two, no more stupid games."

"If it was just between the two of us, then why did you try to kill my friend?"

The man sighed deeply. "I really hate shrinks."

Will struggled to think of a plan as he looked at Alana talking in hushed tones on the phone. Keeping the man talking seemed to be their best bet.

"We don't fit your pattern" Will said, and he began to head towards his desk where the gun was stashed.

"The funny thing about patterns is that they can be broken."

"Why?"

"Why don't' you tell me why you're working with the feds when you should be right here beside me, knocking them out one by one."

"I already told your accomplice that I'm not a killer."

"I know they made your life miserable. The feds, the cops, your so-called friends. Everyone. So why haven't you cracked yet?"

Will risked stretching out slightly so that he could reach into his desk.

And as soon as he did, the footsteps ceased sounding from the porch. They were coming from somewhere to his right and if Will was right, then the man was circling the house and heading for the back. Where the door stood unlocked.

"Don't move" he told Alana one more time before grabbing the Glock and running towards the back door.

The kitchen was quiet, and as far as Will could tell, there were no more footfalls anywhere nearby.

He inched forwards and stopped in front of the door, listening. No breathing sounds. Nothing. He wanted to wait him out, but at any moment, the killer could have circled right back to the front of the house, and Will couldn't take that chance.

The pushed the door open with one hand, keeping his gun steady with the other.

He saw nothing but trees rustling in the wind. Will tentatively took a few steps forward, keeping his ears pitched for any sounds. Unfortunately, when he did pick up something, it was too late.

He felt something cold pressing on the back of his head.

"Mind doing us both a favor by dropping that gun of yours?"

Every muscle in his body protested, but it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter. The few seconds he took to waver made the man only press the gun's nuzzle further into his head. Will let the Glock fall onto the grass.

"All right" the man said from behind his shoulder, "now we can properly talk."

Will closed his eyes, surprised to feel somewhat content to die right there in his back yard. He wasn't particularly glad to have Alana to be the one to stumble over his obliterated head, but maybe that was just the way things were supposed to end for him.

And yet, for the next few moments nothing happened.

"What are you waiting for?" Will asked, more annoyed by the uncertainty of the situation than anything else.

"I told you, I want to talk. I don't want you dead, Mr. Graham. Not just yet."

"You tried shooting me just a few minutes ago."

"I didn't say I didn't want you _hurt_."

Will wasn't sure what to make of that "All right, then. Talk."

A few heartbeats passed before anyone spoke again.

"He's been digging in your mind too, hasn't he?" the man asked, his voice suddenly softer. "I can tell."

Will stayed silent for a few seconds. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I can tell you've been in therapy most of your life. That's one aspect we have in common. The same with the choice of people who took a pickaxe to our mind."

Will didn't need to ask to know that they were thinking of the same person. "What did he do to you?"

"It's what he _didn't_ do that really screwed me up." He sighed. "You're going to crack just like me one day, Mr. Graham. We both know that. And it won't be because of some case or because someone looks at you like you're a monster. It's because of _him_."

A bone crunching sound came from behind him, and the gun was ripped from Will's head. When he turned around, he caught sight of Alana holding a shovel. But the blow only seemed to anger the man, as he quickly turned around and used the butt of the gun to slam it into the side of her head.

Will dashed towards the spot where he had left his gun. But by the time he grabbed the Glock, the killer was already running. With his hands shaking and heart going a million miles a minute, Will took aim and shot. But it failed to connect.

After the second shot missed, Will frantically pulled the trigger a few more times before realizing that he was out of bullets. Panic immediately when it dawned on him that he'd only had two and he had wasted them.

All he could do was stare as the man was quickly engulfed by the trees behind his home. It took him a few seconds to realize that Alana was still there, blood going down the side of her head.

"Are you okay?" he asked, crouching down beside her.

She shook her head slightly. "It's not a big deal, probably just a scratch." Alana paused. "What did he tell you?"

He opened his mouth a few times before deciding there was no point in her knowing. "We should get you to a hospital" Will said, instead.

"I'm fine" she said, slightly annoyed, "just tell me what you two talked about."

Will took a breath before answering. "He told me that his psychiatrist turned him into who he is."

She just nodded, urging him on.

"But you're not going to like to hear his name."

Alana held the bleeding side of her head as she stared at him in silence, worried.

-o-

"You're sure?" Jack asked him, looking tired and skeptical.

"Jack, when you have a gun to your head, your hearing suddenly becomes sharp. I'm telling you the truth."

The Special Agent-in-Charge sighed deeply.

They were both in a small hotel room where Jack had assigned an officer to watch the door. Will felt like he was back to being under surveillance, but he had been assured that the guard was for his own safety.

"I just can't believe it" Jack said, pacing the room, "Lecter has always received glowing recommendations for his practice and now we're supposed to believe that he also helped create this killer?"

"Maybe it was accidental" Will offered, even though he didn't believe it.

"The problem is that we can't just go and straight up ask Hannibal who this guy is. Both you and Alana only saw flashes of this man and that's not good enough to make up a description." He made a sound of frustration. "I'm still pissed about that, by the way."

Will frowned. "That we couldn't get a good view of the killer?"

"No. The fact that Alana was there, and that you, somehow, had a gun on you."

"The gun was just a precaution" Will said in a low voice.

"And now I'm somehow supposed to learn to trust you again."

"Jack, I don't think I've stepped out of line since you pulled me out of prison. Everything I did, I did for the sake of the case." It was only a half-truth, but Will decided that confessing that wouldn't do either of them any good.

Jack sighed. "I know."

"So where does this leave us?"

"We'll need to run a search on all the patients that Dr. Lecter has had over the years."

"That would take a while" Will mumbled.

"And even once we're done, we probably won't find out anything important. Everything we're doing at this point is a long shot."

"So was the plan to release me, but it did work out in the end."

"I also almost got you shot."

Will chewed the inside of his cheek. "I don't think he would've killed me, Jack. The killer seemed more interested in knowing why I didn't turn out just as he did."

"You think he'd come back after you?"

A pause. "I don't know."

Jack stopped in front of the window and looked outside, pensive. "I've been running this in my mind over and over, but I'm still not sure if it's a good idea."

"What is?"

He turned to face him. "Giving your firearm back."

Will just stared at him, stunned.

"I think you've proven that you're on our side in all of this and that we can't risk sending you out there without a means to defend yourself." Jack took a deep breath. "Of course, there's also another side of me that thinks this is all just an elaborate game for you to earn our trust before running off."

"Jack, I don't think there's any way I can make you trust me other than to tell you to look back at what I've done so far."

The Special Agent-in-Charge nodded, lost in thought. "You better not make me regret this" he said eventually.

Will smiled slightly. He didn't have the luxury of enough friends for that


	11. Dream Town

Will tried to remember the last time he had followed a normal sleep schedule. After thinking for far too long, he came to the conclusion that the answer was 'never'.

After two days of being stuck in a hotel room without any news, he decided that there was no point in staying inside and drowning in his own uncertainty and insomnia. Luckily, this time he didn't have a guard always on his heels. And he finally had his gun reassuringly back in his possession. Will held it in his hand, still baffled that Jack hadn't changed his mind about this. But there it was, fitting almost perfectly in his palm, as if it had never left him. Will made sure to fasten the firearm before stepping out the door.

His rational side told him that it was idiotic to walk out into the city during the impending night, especially when his face had been all over the news. But Will quickly shushed this voice and tried to enjoy the first evening he truly felt free.

He could finally walk somewhere without having to give someone an explanation as to where he was going or why. And this simple piece of normality was enough calm down the demons in his head. At least for a little while.

After hours of walking, Will realized that he hadn't simply wandered randomly around the city. He mentally scolded himself when it dawned on him that all this time his legs had been heading towards Alana's house. It wasn't like him to just drop by unexpectedly. But he'd already walked this far. And, most importantly, it had been too long since he'd seen his dogs.

It was late in the evening when he finally found himself in front of her home. Will felt a bit uncomfortable intruding, as he knocked on the door a few times. But a smile instantly appeared on his face when he heard the familiar outbreak of barking and scampering.

Alana didn't look surprised when she answered. "Hi. What's going on?"

He wanted to tell her that he didn't want to spend another night trapped in his own head, especially when there was still a killer out there that knew who he was and who he cared about and could use that information against him. And that while Jack could take care of himself and owned a gun, he was pretty sure that she didn't.

But he wasn't sure how to summarize all of that, so instead, he heard himself blurting out, "I'm really sick of hotel rooms."

She let out a laugh. "Come on in" Alana said, stepping aside.

It was strange being in her home and seeing the dogs, and knowing that his past self would never have been bold enough to just show up on her doorstep unexpectedly. And even though he was too tired and stressed and sick of it all to even consider something romantic in his actions, he found it interesting that it took two serial killers to make him stop being so unsure of himself. At least for the moment.

He took a few minutes to say hello to the dogs and appreciate how much they had missed him. He loved it how quickly they transported him back to his home and the late evenings he usually spent just watching and waiting for all of them to run around in the field.

"It's pretty funny that you showed up here" Alana said. "I was actually thinking of dropping by your room tomorrow morning."

There was a flirtatious joke in there somewhere, but Will decided not to say anything. He wasn't good with jokes anyway.

"I've been thinking about that book I gave you. The one about how psychedelics can help trigger lost memories."

"And you said that it wasn't a good idea to do anything about that."

He could tell by her demeanor that she tensed a bit. "I think we can both agree that quite a few things changed since that conversation."

"All right" Will said wary. "How's your head doing?"

"It's fine" Alana said, waving it off. "Now come on, I need your thoughts on something."

Will followed her into the living room, a flood of wagging tails and paws trailing after him. For a moment, he couldn't figure out what Alana needed his opinion on.

He had to stop when he noticed a plate with some strange ingredients he failed to recognize sitting on the table by the sofa. When it clicked in his head, Will wanted to laugh because he couldn't believe Alana had actually managed to get hold of some psychedelics.

"You're not serious" he said, slightly amused.

"It was pretty tricky and I couldn't get my hands on the exact drugs in the book" she said, "but it comes close enough."

He kept staring, taken aback. "So whatever's in there can get me to access my memories?"

Alana nodded. "It's a mix of trichocereus bridgesii and morning glory seeds. I've researched enough to know that it should work. And it's relatively safe."

"Relatively?"

"Nothing can be perfectly safe when hallucinogenics are involved." She smiled a bit. "Luckily, you have a doctor around."

They both sat down around the coffee table, but Will couldn't help but regard everything as if it was alien.

"I don't suppose you've done something like this before and know what to expect?" Alana asked, noticing his expression.

He shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I don't know why I'm surprised" she said, trying not to smile. "So what do you think?"

"You mean if I want to get high on the off-chance that it can trigger some long lost memories?"

There was an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Will, last time we talked about this, you were so desperate to remember that you drugged two officers and ran off."

"The difference is that now I'm scared of what I can find out about myself."

Alana's face softened. "I think that's a fear most of us share, Will."

He nodded, still staring at whatever was on the plate. "So how is this going to work exactly?"

"It's not that different from hypnosis. Once you're able to enter a state of relaxation and the drugs start to work, you'll be able to access your blocked memories. I'll be here to guide you through those memories and ask you to tell me what you see." She paused. "Provided you manage to get access to them."

"And if I can't?"

Alana looked away for a second. "I'm not sure. But whatever happens, it's going to be hard to anticipate. Especially given your empathy disorder."

Will suddenly felt a smile curling his lips.

She was surprised as she saw the change in his expression. "You're looking forward to this all of a sudden?"

"No, I was just thinking that I've seen so many crime scenes over the years and was even shot twice in my life... and yet this moment right here is starting to worry me more than anything else." He took a deep breath. "I mean, what if things that are rooted deep in my subconscious start to surface?"

"Isn't that the point to all this?"

"I'm not talking about memories. I mean... thoughts that maybe even I'm not aware of on some level."

Alana thought for a moment. "Okay, how's this: I promise that if you start talking about something you're not supposed to, I'll pretend I didn't hear it and won't ever mention it."

"I have a feeling the health board would take away your license if they heard you say that."

She smiled for a moment, but the grin quickly faded. "If we do manage to untangle your memories... there's no way this can end well for everyone, can it?"

Will's eyes were fixated on the wall as he shook his head slowly.

-o-

He wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since he had lied down on the sofa and waited for the ingredients to do whatever they were supposed to.

"Not to criticize" he began, his eyes glued to the ceiling, "but I think your Chemistry skills are a little rusty. I feel perfectly fine."

He could tell Alana struggled to hold back a laugh. "Will, you've been lying on the sofa for twenty minutes now. In all the years I've know you, I've never been this still and calm."

Will blinked a few times, realizing that his eyesight was becoming blurry. "So I guess it relaxes me, but how are we supposed to know if this is working the way it's supposed to?"

The moment he blinked again, Will found himself in Hannibal's empty office. The room was veiled in diffuse shadows that moved about without coherence. The rain outside also seemed peculiar, and when Will moved over to take a closer look, he realized that it was raining upside down.

"Okay" he said, spooked, "it's working."

"So what are we looking for?"

He was startled for a moment until he saw Alana beside him as if she had materialized out of thin air. "Not that I'm complaining" Will said "but I'm a bit confused as to how you're here right now."

"It's probably easier for your mind to process all of this if the one guiding you is physically present."

He furrowed his brow. "Isn't that just a way of saying that I'd be too scared to do this on my own?"

"Will, you're trying to dig inside your head while high on psychedelics. I think you're allowed to feel a little anxious."

The office door suddenly opened with a creak, and Dr. Lecter walked inside. Will's face fell when he saw who was with him. A tall man with gray hair stood in the doorway.

"This was a bad idea" Will said, taking a few steps back instinctively. "A very bad idea."

Alana looked between them, worried. "Will?"

"Apparently, my mind interprets a psychedelic drug trip as the perfect time to bring my father into this."

"It's all right" she said "it's normal to have some of your fears mix into this. We just need to focus on Hannibal."

"I just don't know what to do anymore" Will's father said, sighing. He then settled down on the seat in front of Hannibal. "I mean you try to raise your kid right and you tell him what to do and how to act and then he turns out a complete mess anyway."

"And what does Mrs. Graham think of this?" Hannibal asked with his usual calm tone.

"Oh, she's not even in the picture. I sometimes think that she took one look at what a pathetic little boy she brought into the world, and she just couldn't take it."

A spark of great interest appeared in Hannibal's eyes. "And what makes you say that?"

"I mean I always knew something was off about him. Like for instance, when he was little, I took him to this kid's house for a birthday party. And then when I come back to pick him up at the end of the day, this kid's mother told me that Will just sat in the corner by himself all the time, like he was some sort of degenerate."

Alana placed a hand on Will's shoulder for support, but he remained motionless. "It's fine. Just let him get it out of his system so we can move on."

"And that upsets you" Hannibal said, still engrossed in the conversation.

"Well of course it does" the graying man said "how would you like it if your only kid turns out to be so scared of the world that he can't even function in it. You should've seen him following me around all his life like I was some goddamn anchor or something. I mean it's ridiculous."

As difficult as it was, Will took a deep breath and struggled to readjust where his focus was. He wasn't here to try and figure out why his father had never been warm towards him or why he tended to drink too much. Will had come here to try and unblock different memories.

So he dug his fingernails in his palm and moved the spotlight. And as soon as he did, he found himself in front of Hannibal, as if they were in the midst of another session. His father was gone.

"You are quite a peculiar patient, aren't you?" Hannibal asked.

Will blinked a few more times, and turned in his seat. Alana was nowhere to be seen. "What's going on?"

"Did you lose time again, Will? We're in the middle of a session."

Will glanced around the office, realizing that it was no longer sunken in strange shadows, and that the rain had stopped. Everything looked real and palpable this time. There were no signs that he was just stuck in a memory.

"Will?" Hannibal asked.

"Right, sorry. I just... got confused for a moment."

Dr. Lecter moved over to his desk to retrieve a pad of paper and a pen. "You should always do the test to ground yourself when you feel uncertain."

Will eyed the paper for a minute before taking it from his grasp. He grabbed the pen and tried drawing, but his right arm began to move completely on its own, tracing the outline of the clock. He looked in awe as the pen moved on the paper haphazardly, sketching the numbers on the face of the clock.

They were all disjointed and their position bizarre, all slanting towards the right. He attempted to correct himself, but whenever he tried to control his arm, it simply refused to comply. And as soon as he was done, Will handed the paper back mechanically.

Hannibal glanced at it for a moment before looking at Will with the hint of a smile. "Everything seems to be in order."

The sound of a voice began to distort the very reality Will thought he was seeing, and the image contracted and snapped.

He found himself at the FBI headquarters. The examination room was cold and empty, only one overhead lamp sending a cone of light around him.

Alana soon walked into view. "I thought I lost you for a second there."

"He knew" Will said, still stuck in disbelief. "Ever since the first few sessions, he knew."

Her expression softened. "You know that what we're doing right now has no scientific basis. You can't know for sure that what you saw is a real memory or just your mind trying to find logic in a place filled with confusion."

"But it makes sense. It makes sense why he was always so interested in me and my condition. He wanted to push me just to see how long I could hold on before everyone would think I was-"

The picture before his eyes changed again, morphing into nothing but darkness.

"... wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong" a voice said. "He's too far gone to recover. I believe we're truly run out of options at this point."

When Will peeled his eyes open, his heart began to hammer. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel that he was lying on a bed. With his arms and legs restrained. Will could hear someone talking right outside the room he was in, the man's voice droning on and on as if it was sounding from within his head.

"Alana?" he called out. He gave the restraints a tug. "I don't think I like the idea of digging in my head anymore."

"You need to stop focusing on what you're afraid of" Alana said from somewhere in the darkness, but exactly where, he couldn't pin-point.

"If I had that much control over my mind, I wouldn't even be in this situation in the first place."

"It's all right, just take a deep breath and try to ground yourself."

But Will's breathing was starting to increase no matter what he did, and the restraints were digging into his skin. "This feels a little too real right now" he said aloud.

"Will, just listen to me. I want you to close your eyes and think of somewhere you feel safe."

He shook his head. "I don't think it's going to be that easy."

"You're in a highly suggestible state right now, and you should be able to manipulate the world around you. Just stop thinking about what you're scared of and control the flow of your thoughts."

It sounded so easy, but Will felt as if he had been asked to move a wall. But he closed his eyes and struggled to calm himself down. It was strange how quickly his own mind attacked him and blamed him for anything and everything. How scared he was of the way he was perceived now that everything was out in the open.

Will thought back to his little home and how safe and calm it looked in the middle of the night when it resembled a boat floating on the ocean. A small haven where no one could judge or poke or prod his mind. Just him and the dogs.

A cold nose pushed Will's arm, and he awoke in his living room. Judging by the look he was giving him, Winston seemed slightly upset at being ignored. Will smiled a bit and then moved to pet him for a moment.

The scene felt familiar, but not in a mundane manner. He had lived this moment before. Will glanced around and saw the remnants of a motor boat sitting next to his bed. The brickwork above his fireplace was also damaged. And when he turned his head back, Alana was standing a few inches in front of him.

"When I said safe" Alana began, "I didn't exactly have this in mind."

Will looked sheepish and took a few steps behind him. "Sorry. Is it all right to employ the you-not-mentioning-this rule right now?"

She looked amused. "Sure."

"I feel like I'm getting lost in my own subconscious" Will said to himself, "I'm drowning in all this chaos. I just didn't think it would be this difficult to access a few memories."

"Then maybe it's time to try a different kind of approach."

"What do you mean?"

"You told me once that the memory you want to access the most to is the night you came back from Minnesota."

He nodded, wary.

"I want you to manipulate this very scene so that it matches that night. Exactly."

Will looked at her with a furrowed brow. He wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he didn't like the idea of purposefully modifying this specific scene, one of the few good memories he had. But if he refused, then he'd just spend all his time running around in circles.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Will thought back to the night he feverishly stumbled back home, confused and tired beyond belief. Without Abigail. He could still remember specks of what had happened that night. Stumbling back home, feeling completely unlike himself and barely hanging onto consciousness.

In the blink of an eye, Will found himself sprawled out on his bed. The fog swirling in his mind was so thick that he had a hard time recognizing where he was. Slowly but surely, he waded through the haze. There was no daylight filtering through his windows, which meant it had to be a few hours since his return.

And as soon as he began to come to, realization struck him. There was someone else in the room.

The person had his back to him, but soon began to walk towards the bed. Will felt like his limbs were made of lead and his head was heavy with fatigue. Soon enough, a familiar face stood in front of him. Hannibal moved around his house as if he wasn't a mere guest but like he had done it so many times before. He was retrieving something from nearby, but Will couldn't quite see what it was. He attempted to move his head to get a better view, but his muscles refused to listen. A few seconds later it became clear what Hannibal was carrying.

Will had to blink a few times, trying to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. But they weren't. Hannibal brought a fondue fork close to his head and settled it down.

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on Will. Red flags were going off in every corner of his mind, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Hannibal went back to grab something else before returning. He was carrying an ice box this time. He settled it with care on the foot of the bed and the popped the latches off. Will couldn't believe what he was seeing. A human ear.

A few mumbled words ran somewhere in the distance, but Will couldn't quite hear them. Alana seemed way too far away, as if she was a great distance above. He knew he had to use her voice as an anchor to the real world, and not let himself get lost just as he had in the reconstruction involving the Georgia Madchen case.

But all attempts to think rationally and focus dissolved the moment he stared at the human ear. He knew who it belonged to, and the image of his old psychiatrist carrying it with such calm rattled him deeply. Because Will suddenly knew exactly what would happen next.

As Hannibal picked up the ear in his left hand and headed towards him, Will struggled to move, to scream, to do anything to get off of that bed. But he felt paralyzed. All he could do was stare at Hannibal drawing close.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening because it was just impossible and insane and wrong, wrong, **wrong**. But there was his psychiatrist, impaling a human ear onto a fondue fork. Will watched with wide eyes as a few droplets of blood fell down the fork, but Hannibal showed no signs of being perturbed. He was moving calm and collected, almost mechanical. Like he'd done it before.

Will tried closing his eyes to block out the memory. Surely he'd wake up at any moment. He had to. It didn't matter that his memory had been unblocked anymore because he wanted out, he wanted to snap out of it and go back to the world where this man was no longer around him and in control.

But no matter how much he strained, Will couldn't change the reality he was seeing.

With the same calm expression he always sported, Hannibal moved over and opened his mouth while raising the impaled ear on the fork.

He began to force the ear down his throat, and for a moment Will couldn't move or breathe or cough. His eyes had gone bugged and every fiber of his being was screaming that this wasn't happening. A second later his throat began to burn, and his lugs were working overtime to keep him breathing even if Will wanted them to just stop and let him pass out. He kept waiting for the scene to snap shut and send him back to the real world, but the seconds stretched on painfully slow as the ear made its way down to his stomach, burning everywhere it touched.

And suddenly it was over, just as abruptly as it started. Will saw as Hannibal retrieved the ice box from the bed. And, before turning away, the doctor gave a little smile.

When Will awoke, he realized that he was shaking and his vision was terribly blurred by tears. Sometime in his delusion he had managed to stand upright, with his knees brought up to his chest. And Alana was next to him, looking shaken.

"You stopped talking to me around the end" she said. "You just went dead silent."

Will shook his head while remembering what he had seen. "I could— I couldn't move."

"You don't have to tell me what you saw if you don't want to."

"I think I have to" he said, voice trembling. "And then I want you to tell me that I've lost my mind and there's no way what I saw is possible."

Alana looked at him, worry written all over her features.

He spent a good few minutes telling her what he had experienced, all the while resisting the urge to simply run off and forget everything he had seen and felt. He gave her all the details he could remember, which were surprisingly plentiful. The scene he had experienced was still vivid in his mind, and he could remember everything he had seen, even the pattern and color of the tie Hannibal had been wearing.

The more he talked, the more he saw Alana's expression change, quickly dissolving from surprise to shock. Finally, sadness crept in.

Once he had finished talking, a tense silence fell on the room. And Will quickly noticed that there were tears forming in the corners of Alana's eyes. He wasn't sure if he should attempt to try and comfort her when all the words he could think of sounded so trite in his own mind.

"I didn't want to believe it" she said softly. "I really didn't. I mean I knew there was something a bit strange about him, but to find out he's-" She shook her head.

He saw in her eyes how the last bits of credibility that her former mentor was a good man began to chip away. And the pieces were beginning to slot into place in her mind, leaving little doubt that someone she considered a good friend was only masquerading as a normal human being. And Will had been the one to cause this fracture in her life.

"I'm sorry..." he said. It wasn't enough to fix the situation or offer comfort, but there was nothing else he could think to say.

"We have to tell Jack, don't we?"

Will shook his head frantically. "You can't tell him anything about this. He's good friends with him and would never believe anything without proof. Besides, it's better if everyone thinks you don't know anything."

"So we're supposed to do this on our own?"

"Just until we have enough proof."

Alana nodded, her gaze anchored somewhere far away.

They spent the next few hours sitting on the sofa and staring at nothing in particular, just two people trying to deal with the reality of an unprecedented situation that most likely couldn't be fixed. No words were shared between them, the patter of paws being the only thing that filled the silence.

Which is why Will felt like his heart would explode out his chest when Alana's phone rang.

"Jack" Alana said, surprised, "I really didn't expect you to call this late. Did something happen?"

After hearing the reply, she leaned over and handed the phone to Will.

"You're not at home" Jack said with a deadpan tone.

"I'm sorry" Will said without thinking. He was beginning to hate that his split-second reaction to hearing Jack's aggravated voice was apologizing.

"We've had a break in the case, and we think we found our killer."

Will froze for a second. "How? Did the accomplice crack?"

"No, so we had the team conduct interviews with his friends and family and his roommate told us the guy was spotted with a strange individual multiple times. We were able to pull his image from a hardware store camera and once we showed our accomplice the picture, his expression betrayed him. He still refused to say anything on the basis that he was promised he'd die if he did. But we managed to get an ID without his help. The name is Warren Hurley." Jack paused. "And you were right. He inherited a lot of money a few months ago. There's more, but I'll explain at the scene."

"You've got his address?"

"The whole team is already on-road and I want you there at the scene with us."

"You're expecting a crime scene?"

"No one is sure what to expect, that's why we're not taking any chances. I want you there as soon as possible."

Once Jack let him know where the house was, Will tried to get his head to stop spinning long enough to get his jacket on. But he found himself stopped in front of Alana. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that if he left without her, the next time he saw her it would be in a body bag.

"How do you feel about visiting a criminal's house?" he asked her.

-o-

Hannibal couldn't shake the annoyance he was feeling. There he was ready to prepare what was left of Freddie Lounds into a meal for two, and his guest had decided to cancel last minute. But he knew the excuse was just that. An excuse.

Alana had never passed up one of his dinners before and the fact that she had suddenly found something better to do on a Friday night didn't sit well with him.

Now that he was free, Will would have already attempted to sway her to his side. There was actually no doubt in his mind that his former patient had been behind this. He had a good heart, of course, trying to keep her safe from the world. But it was fruitless and Hannibal knew that attempting to shield people from the inevitable horrors of life never worked.

But he found it interesting and a little amusing that Will was trying to work behind his back, struggling to gain the upper hand. It was rather sad that a scenario in Will's favor would mostly likely never happen. Hannibal saw him as a frantic but scared gerbil who was constantly attempting to escape his cage. Too bad the time would never come.

Hannibal sighed, disappointed he wouldn't be able to dine with anyone that night. And as he began to clear the plates from his dinning room, the doorbell rang. Well, when one door closed...

He went over to the front door and decided to open it without checking who it might be. An exhausted looking man with a jittery demeanor stood before him.

"Mr. Hurley" Hannibal said, taken aback to see the face of one of his former patients.

-o-

Will found himself outside a rather modest looking home, definitely unlike what he imagined wealthy people owning. He was sitting behind along with the rest of Jack's team, waiting for the house to be swept over before they could enter.

Once the SWAT team had thoroughly searched it, they had to admit there was no chance their killer was still hiding in a room somewhere. It appeared that Warren Hurley had long since left.

"Just a warning" Beverly said, as she approached Will, "stay out of Jack's way until his anger deflates."

"Or until he finds someone to take it on" Brian offered.

"I want everyone in here" Jack's voice came from within the house. As expected, he was upset that the killer had slipped away.

Will suddenly felt very glad that he had brought Alana along. Hopefully, Jack would be able to keep his temper in check around her. Will approached the house and climbed the creaky steps of the porch.

He froze only a few inches past the threshold. Because he felt as if he had stepped into a slightly altered version of his own home. Will was disturbed by all the similarities he could spot.

The bookcase on the wall was filled by paperbacks that were worn and now stood under a thick layer of dust. The fireplace was unlit, also forgotten, much like the papers on his desk. And there was a mattress tucked into the corner of the living room filled with blankets and scattered articles of clothing. Whoever lived there most likely felt alone and abandoned, and had lost hope of expecting any visits from friends or family.

The house looked haunted to Will.

"Anything?" Jack asked, startling him.

Will struggled to erase the expression of surprise from his face. "Nothing yet" he said a bit too quickly.

"You know the deal: you see something, you yell."

He nodded as Jack distanced himself.

Alana walked up next to Will, looking just as spooked. "You see it too?" she whispered.

"For a second I thought I was going crazy again." He paused to look over the living room, almost expecting to see seven dogs trotting inside. "I'm just not completely sure what this all means yet."

* * *

**A/N**: I know that the whole psychedelic scene isn't even remotely realistic (much like the rest of the story) and I apologize for the whole suspension of disbelief business. But after spending a lot of time googling "how to make LSD at home" I decided that there's no way I can pull it off in the story. So I tried to find some middle ground. (I basically just wanted an excuse to see what Will's mind would be like high on psychedelics.)

Thanks for reading! I know I don't really show it, but I really appreciate that there are people who take the time to read this silly little story. Many thanks for keeping me motivated.


	12. It's The Little Things

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the room, disrupting the comfortable atmosphere that had settled in his home. Hannibal watched as someone from his past had found its way back into the present. Like an old faded photo that had no right to be there.

But Hannibal's interest was instantly piqued when he saw an ugly bruise on the side of Hurley's head.

"It's been some time since we last saw each other, huh doctor" Hurley said, cautiously taking in the surroundings.

"Two years, four months, if my memory serves me."

"And it always does..." Hurley said, shaking his head slightly. "But somehow I can tell that this is one thing you didn't anticipate."

"I considered it a possibility, briefly. But I didn't think you would be reckless enough to go through with it."

Hurley regarded him with disbelief. "You think showing up here is reckless? No, reckless is what you did to me two years ago." He fixed his eyes on Hannibal. "What it's still doing to me."

"What you are feeling is perfectly normal" Hannibal said with practiced patience. "It's not unusual for patients to place all the blame and burden on their therapists."

"You're not a normal therapist, Dr. Lecter" Hurley said, still holding his gaze.

"I know you are aware that no progress can be made by assigning blame and accusations to others."

"When I walked in your office two years ago, you told me that I was the reason my son killed himself."

Hannibal suppressed the smile that threatened to come out. Ah, that had been such a fun little case. And Hurley had been so easy to manipulate in his vulnerable state.

"You were adamant to reach the root of the problem and why you were feeling guilty" Hannibal said, "I had no choice but to verbalize the words you were actively blocking out."

"No, you planted that idea and let it simmer in my mind until it drove me mad. And once my wife heard about it, she just couldn't get it out of her head either. Do you remember how fast things fell apart for me after that? My wife, my parents, they all bought your idea, because of course they would. No one ever thinks that a psychiatrist could just lie like that." He paused. "And when I asked for your help, you simply referred me to another shrink because you thought I was out of line to call you outside the office."

Hannibal fixed his gaze on him, determined. "You turned your own life on its head, Mr. Hurley. I merely held up a mirror for you to see things as they really were."

The man shook his head, disbelief playing on his features. "You enjoy doing this to people, don't you? I used to think that I was wrong in the head, but then I realized it's nothing compared to you."

Hannibal calmly leaned over to close the door. "Why are you here, Mr. Hurley?"

"I want you to fix everything you've destroyed. My life, my marriage, my shattered world. Everything."

Hurley took a few more steps towards him, as if to prove that he was serious. But he was careful, careful not to angle his body so that Hannibal could see his back. It was easy to guess why.

"It seems incongruous, wouldn't you say?" Hannibal asked.

"What does?"

"You come here claiming to want my help and yet you carry a weapon."

Hurley's nostrils flared, but he tried to keep his composure.

"You would please hand over the knife you are holding behind your back?" Hannibal said. But the question sounded more like a demand.

Hurley refused to move. He stood rooted to the spot, fear dancing in his eyes.

"I suggest you do it before things become truly unfortunate for you" Hannibal added.

A man with a reasonable head on his shoulders would have simply brought a gun, but it had been a long time since Hurley's mind had been reasonable with him. He had grabbed the knife because he relished the thought of making his old psychiatrist squirm before attempting to kill him in a close and personal manner. One which ensured he could feel every blow. Guns just seemed so impersonal. Hannibal found himself oddly relating to him in that aspect.

Hurley looked at him, and Hannibal could see that there was a hint of something trying to fight its way out. The man wanted to make a sudden move and strike him out of desperation. But the spark quickly died out, and Hurley retrieved the knife from behind his back. He placed it in Hannibal's outstretched hand.

There was realization of defeat on Hurley's face, because he knew he didn't stand a chance in front of the man before him. And just like that, something clicked in Hannibal's mind.

Hurley knew.

"You are the one who uncovered the bodies found a week ago" Hannibal said.

The man stared at him for a moment, knowing that there was little point in trying to deny it. "I am."

Hannibal pressed his lips together for a second before returning his attention back to Hurley. "Well then, there is no point in discussing things while standing in a corridor." He gestured for him to follow.

His old patient looked positively confused as he was led into the dinning room. His eyes darted from wall to wall, as if attempting to gauge the kind of man his previous psychiatrist was by the way his house was decorated. They both stopped before the table that still had the remnants of a dinner that hadn't taken place, a few forks, knives and plates still present.

Hannibal settled at the table and placed Hurley's knife nearby. He was a bit taken aback by how sharp the blade looked. Definitely not something a delusional man should carry around.

Hurley sat down at the other end of the table, apprehensive. "I know I'm not some isolated case. You like to do this sort of thing all the time." He paused. "I met one of your old patients a few days ago."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"I wanted to have a nice little chat with him, but things didn't exactly turn out how I expected."

"Is he the one who left you that bruise?" Hannibal asked, intrigued that Will would produce such an effect.

"No. It was the female shrink that keeps hanging around him."

So then Will had somehow managed to get Alana's violent side to rise to the surface. Hannibal couldn't help but feel a little proud of the man he had helped create.

"Is that what you're doing to all your patients?" Hurley asked. "You plant seeds and then you push them until they snap. Until their entire family and all their friends abandon the monster that suddenly emerged."

Hannibal eyed the knife in front of him for a moment. "Why are you really here, Mr. Hurley? You haven't come here to ask questions. Nor do you possess enough strength and callousness to kill me."

"I think we both know that it's not that hard to take a life, doctor."

The hint of realization appeared and caused Hannibal to smile slightly. "You've been playing with the FBI for quite some time now, haven't you?"

"They already know who I am" Hurley said. "You could call them right now, but I'll be gone by the time they arrive."

Hannibal wanted to shake his head at that. Of course he wouldn't call them when he was having so much fun watching the authorities stumbling blindly in the dark. Not when Will hadn't yet had a proper confrontation with him. Two of his past patients circling each other and trying to figure out what made the other tick. It sounded so wonderfully entertaining.

"It's interesting the way you channeled your grief" Hannibal said. "Most people fall into depression and hopelessness. But you seem to bypass sadness and instantly turn to violence."

"I only killed the people that deserved it."

"The police would disagree on that."

"Do you know how hard it is to watch people go by with smiles on their faces? Completely oblivious that there are so many others who have to trudge through life in miser. It makes me sick just to think about it." He shook his head. "I didn't want to kill them, but I had to."

"You've deluded yourself into thinking you're doing some sort of vigilante work."

"I'm not delusional."

"You have killed people and sent their remains to the FBI in a box. And yet you say you are not delusional."

Hurley leaned forward in his seat. "I had to get them involved so they could make it public. So the FBI could raise awareness that there's someone out there doing what has to be done to level the playing field for all of us."

"No" Hannibal said simply. "You began sending the boxes to the authorities when you realized that no one was properly paying attention to you. When you realized that everything you had achieved in your life amounted to nothing and you had no family or friends there with you. You wanted to be skilled at something and have society shine a light on that."

"I'm not some sicko who likes to kill for attention."

"Not outright, no. But one some level, you enjoy killing because you think it places our lives on equal ground and brings you closer to the life you want to have. Closer to someone like myself."

Hurley was off his seat in an instant. "I'm _nothing_ like you. And I don't ever want to be like you."

"And yet you've been watching me so closely for the past few weeks."

He just stared, unsure of how Hannibal had come to know that.

"I was tempted to leave you as you were, forever struggling to come to a conclusion that would never arrive. But then you began to rifle my past. What you did could have caused me a lot of headaches, Mr. Hurley." Hannibal paused. "And I think that it would be fair to return the gesture."

But he wouldn't kill him. At least not then and there. His house had seen more than enough bodies and continuing to bring them in wasn't wise. Especially when the alternative was much more tempting. Hurley looked tired and tortured. Frustrated. Hannibal knew that, if he pushed him just the right way, the man could snap in a very interesting fashion. Maybe would even resort to suicide. Hannibal wouldn't even have to try too hard.

"You already destroyed my life" Hurley said, "I highly doubt you could do anything worse."

It was beginning to be harder and harder to restrain the smile that was attempting to break out, but Hannibal managed to keep himself stoic.

"You have yet to tell me what pushed you to come here" he said. Hannibal had come to realize why, but wanted to see if Hurley could dig inside his scattered thoughts and actually come to a proper conclusion.

"I came here because someone needs to level the playing ground. You deserve to be miserable."

Hannibal shook his head. "No. You came here because you wanted one last session with me. You wanted someone to tell you that there is still hope for you to go back to your life and pick up the pieces. That you can still be saved."

The words seemed to strike a chord with his old patient because his face instantly softened, and years of fatigue made way for something he hadn't dared consider for a long time.

"Can I?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Mr. Hurley" Hannibal said, leaning forward in his seat, "you were past the point of being saved the moment you walked into my office two years ago."

The last pieces of whatever Hurley had been hanging onto shattered the moment Hannibal's words reached him. And the man's expression fell, small tears forming at the edges of his eyes. Hannibal watched with fascination how quickly a man's hope could be obliterated with just a few words.

"Then I don't have many options anymore" Hurley said, his eyes trailing over the table. Hannibal noted that he was glancing at the knife by the dinner plate. If he was considering anything, then it was pointless. He was too far away from Hannibal and the cutlery wasn't sharp enough for killing.

But Hurley picked it up, glancing at it in his hand while the sadness quickly turned to anger. And a few seconds later he brought the knife down towards the table with a sharp movent. A blunt sound came from the table as the knife embedded itself into the wood a few inches.

And in that moment, Hannibal's decision of letting Will kill his old patient changed.

"I don't think we'll meet again, doctor" Hurley said, visibly calmer after his outburst. He made his way towards the door beyond the table.

"A word of warning" Hannibal said, stopping the man in his tracks. "The next time you see Will Graham, he will do everything in his power to ensure that you do not escape with your life."

Hurley considered the warning for a moment before nodding briefly. And he was gone, the door closing behind him.

The warning hadn't been for his benefit, of course, but Hannibal simply wanted to add a grain of worry and uncertainty in Hurley's mind. Just enough to insure that Will wouldn't somehow end up dead by his hands. Hannibal didn't want his toy being permanently broken by one of his old patients.

Moments later, Hannibal calmly walked over to the other side of the table and pulled the knife out. He inspected the damage done to the wood, noting that it wasn't too bad. Somewhat costly, but easy fixable by a professional. There was no point in becoming angry because the moment Hurley would die by his hand was soon approaching. All he needed was timing. And the best kills came to those who waited.

Until then, he had other things to attend to. Such as addressing how rude Alana had been for cancelling their dinner abruptly. He didn't intend to harm her – yet, at least – but making a simple phone call would almost definitely send Will's mind swimming with worry and paranoia. And, sometimes, it was the little things that brought Hannibal the most joy.

-o-

Will rubbed his head in frustration as he took a step back from the drawers he was searching in. It looked like everyone who was looking through Hurley's home was turning up empty-handed. The only thing the agents had stumbled onto was a part of Hurley's inheritance, stashed under his mattress. But it looked long abandoned. Money obviously didn't mean much to him anymore.

There were no clues as to his current whereabouts, but what disappointed Will the most was that he could find no trace that linked Hannibal to him. No prescription bottles, or files, or even a business card. Nothing.

"There's a bunch of fibers and fingerprints everywhere" Jimmy Price said, "but other than conforming who this house belongs to, it doesn't really help us." He sighed. "I don't suppose you could do your empathy thing without a body?"

Will looked away and mumbled, "Sorry."

There was an imperceptible shaking of his head when he walked off, as if Jimmy was thinking 'well, what good are you?' Will had to admit that a similar thought was going through his head. Because, there they were, so close to this man. They were inside his home, going through his things, and yet they couldn't find a way to catch him.

"Everyone can start clearing out now" Jack's voice came from one room over.

Will frowned as he walked over to him. "What's going on?"

"We're going back to headquarters. We've still got the Ripper case to handle."

"But we've only been here a few hours, Jack." He lowered his voice. "We still haven't found a link that connects Dr. Lecter to Warren Hurley."

"Exactly. Three hours digging in this house and we found nothing. Nothing to show that they're even remotely connected."

Will took a small step back. "You're not convinced I told you the truth."

"Look, all I know is that this guy had a gun to your head when he spoke, and you were both high-strung. And he never outright told you that Lecter was his psychiatrist."

"He didn't have to, I just-"

"I appreciate the fact that you're good at empathizing with almost anyone. But I think it's time to stop pointing fingers and wasting time. Facts are facts. And right now there's nothing here linking the two."

"Then we need to get our hands on the patient records" Will said, "Hurley's name has to be in there."

"Patient records are confidential and the only way we could get a hold of them is by asking Hannibal for them. And I don't want to bring him into a murder investigation until we've got more than a hunch to go on."

Will felt like he was losing credibility in Jack's eyes all over again, and it was all because the house being empty had sapped the last of his hopes. And it looked like the only way to bring Jack back onboard was by getting those records.

But they had to be locked up in Hannibal's office, and lock picking was a skill that Will didn't possess. And even if he could somehow break in, the tell-tale signs would alert Hannibal that someone had been inside.

It looked like he had reached a dead end. Will stepped outside, feeling deflated. He soon found Alana getting off the phone. She looked slightly troubled.

"Something happened?"

She frowned. "Hannibal called. He asked what crime scene could possibly be more interesting than the dinner he prepared."

Dread suddenly filled Will. "He knows that you didn't plan to cancel."

"I think he knows that you asked me to."

If it were anyone else, Will could simply chalk that up to a person feeling slightly hurt by a rude cancellation. But this was Hannibal, a man who didn't call unless he had already thought about putting things into motion.

"You didn't find anything in there, did you?" Alana asked.

Will shook his head. "But I know that we'll find Hurley in his patient records. The problem is that the FBI can't barge into his office without a warrant."

Alana turned to face him, her voice low. "But we could."

"I don't know what you've heard, but lock picking isn't something they teach at the Academy."

"No, but you tend to pick up that kind of skill when you grow up with three brothers."

Will tried not to stare at her. "You're kidding."

"I haven't practiced it in years, but it's a lot like riding a bike. When you need to it, your muscle memory will kick in."

"Does Hannibal know?"

Alana shook her head. "I always made sure not to mention it to anyone. It's a sure-fire way to get people to stop trusting you." She waited a moment before adding, "when do you want to do this?"

"As soon as possible. The problem is that we have to wait until he stops suspecting us so much. Which could take a very long time."

They had agreed upon waiting two days at the most before attempting to break into Hannibal's office. Alana had reassured him that she needed the time to make preparations and see if her skills had become rusty, but Will suspected that she had picked two days in order to let his nerves relax for a while.

Either way, it was too long a time to wait.

But he nodded his head and returned home, all the while the voice in the back of his head went on and on about the fact that they were cowards for not acting sooner. And the minutes began to drag on the moment he stepped back into his empty house.

To pass the time, he thought back to all the details he knew about Hannibal, the disappearance of Freddie Lounds, and why he had such a hidden interest in the Chesapeake Ripper. The pieces were there, scattered and incomplete as they were, but Will knew that he could make them click if he could only think properly.

But there were other things creeping around in his head, deterring him from the field of focus, and Will's own situation was still worrying him. Because if this case was closed without Hannibal being linked to the killer in any way, then his entire story would be swept under the rug as yet another crazy theory. He would return to prison and that would be the end of it. Jack wouldn't risk giving him another chance.

The following day, the chaos in Will's head was broken by a phone call.

"We've got something on the Ripper case" Jack said in his usual tone that usually failed to incorporate a hello.

"Another victim?"

"No. After the bodies in the forest were found, the team went back to all the known victims of the Ripper, trying to find a pattern. Beverly thinks they've found one."

He didn't even need to hear what else Jack had to say, because Will was already rushing out of the house.

-o-

"It's still a bit of a stretch" Brian said "so we're not so sure how relevant it is yet."

Out of habit, the team had gathered in the examination room where papers littered every available surface.

"All right" Beverly said, opening a file "so we went back through all the victims and made background checks and asked around whenever we found friends or family who were willing to cooperate."

Brian nodded. "Darcy Taylor's case was the first we checked. She was a student who worked all manner of jobs. We found out that she had to change jobs four times in one year because the customers complained about the way she approached people."

"Benjamin Raspail was next" Jimmy said "he was first flautist for the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra, and often referred to as very moody and eccentric. He made it a habit of arguing and yelling at most of the people he played with."

Beverly opened another file. "And, most recently, our last two victims that were dug up. Allie Bishop and Walter Kelso. He was widely known as being a strict chiropractor with increasingly few patients. This guy was apparently so unlikable that he had move from one state to another until he found a clinic willing to accept him. And his girlfriend here? She was nurse who was actually fired once because she wouldn't stop cursing people at work."

Will thought back to the scene in the forest when he had empathized with the killer and felt a wave of resentment concerning the victims. It seemed to fit.

Jack cleared his throat. "So what you're saying is that all of our victims were disliked."

"Universally" Beverly said.

"And going by this pattern means that our killer actively sought out unpopular people."

Brian shrugged. "Maybe the Chesapeake Ripper is a vigilante."

"So we're dealing with a cannibal with manners" Jimmy said. "Which is just weird because you think you've seen all there is to see in the world of criminals. I mean why would a serial killer be so bothered by rude people anyway?"

"He probably holds people up to a standard of his making" Will said "and, when they fail to meet these expectations, he thinks the best option is to remove them from society."

"So he's narcissistic" Jack offered.

Will nodded, already seeing the profile building in his head. "He considers manners important and has an irrational hate of those who break them. He's probably a connoisseur in some reputable field, like the opera. He's also a man of letters with a respectable job and reputation. Most likely something intellectual such as a professor or medical doctor."

The moment the words left his mouth, Will felt something click in his head. The pieces fell into place, but the realization wasn't clear to him. Because Will's first reaction was to reject it. It made sense on an objective level, but it couldn't have possibly been true. He had seen and lived through so many crazy things in his life, but this one was just too much to process.

He was left standing in front of the team, a deep frown marking his expression.

"Will?" Jack asked, more annoyed at his sudden silence than anything.

As soon as he snapped back into focus, the rest of the pieces settled among the rest, making the image clearer. And the picture took over his mind. Will's vision began to blur immediately and he realized that his pulse was accelerating.

"Are you feeling okay?" Brian asked.

"I, uh... I feel dizzy..." Will mumbled, "... fresh air."

He kept himself under control, but only until he was out of the team's line of sight. He then broke into a run and didn't stop until he reached one of the bathrooms. Once he was above a sink, Will felt the few contents of his stomach reaching his throat.

He tried to tune it out, tried to reject the idea that the man that ransacked his mind was a cannibal that had fed him human flesh. But the truth Will had blocked out all this time had finally caught up with him.


	13. Nerve Endings

He hadn't eaten in two days. But the fact didn't seem to register in his mind or stomach because the concept of time had mangled somewhat in his head, leaving him teetering before a state he couldn't quite pin-point.

The ideas and facts were all there stored in his memory and they all made sense, but there was still a roadblock positioned somewhere in front of them, cutting him off from the shock and reality of it all. Will theorized that it must have been some sort of defense set up by his psyche to keep him from having a breakdown. But this sort of wall was exactly the kind of impediment he didn't need.

And as Will sat on the chair before Hannibal's office and waited for Alana to arrive, he kept repeating the facts in his head. His old psychiatrist was a serial killer. He was also a cannibal who had most likely, on more than one occasion, fed them human meat. It still sounded surreal with every time he said it, but he knew there was no point trying to deny it. Despite the proof he lacked, Will was certain that if he looked close enough, he could find it.

But he couldn't simply go stumbling into Hannibal's home to look for evidence. He had to wait and plan and think because the man was a million steps behind him. And until he could figure out a way to chip away from Hannibal's mask of normality, Will had to also deal with other problems.

"What happened?"

He raised his gaze from his shoes to see that Alana had arrived, worry wrinkling her expression.

"It's after 2AM. I'm just a little tired" Will said, rubbing his head.

"Exhaustion doesn't usually leave you this spooked." She took a few more steps and sat down on the chair next to him. "What's wrong? I mean other than the fact that we're about to break and enter in someone's office."

Will had considered what he should say ever since he had found out himself. He fluctuated between doing what a good friend should do or what his inner-cop told him was right, and in the end decided that she deserved to know. She had helped him more times than anyone else and probably wouldn't assume that he was only saying this to tarnish her old mentor's reputation for his own benefit.

Will also hoped that once he heard himself saying the words, he could remove the wall and begin to feel like his old self again. It was for the best to simply tell her about his theory and get it over with.

But his mouth refused to form the words.

He shook his head and tried a smile instead. "I'm just a little nervous about stepping foot in that office again."

"I don't blame you" she said, looking at the door. "If you want, you can stay out here."

Will shook his head adamantly.

"Well, you'll have all the time you need to prepare yourself." She dug inside the pocket of her coat and revealed a small box. Alana then opened it and fished out two picks. "Unfortunately, breaking isn't as easy as the movies make it. This could take a while."

Will nodded. Surprisingly, what worried him the most wasn't what he could find in the office, but what Hannibal's response to finding his lock vandalized would be.

"He's going to be really upset over this in the morning, isn't he?" Will asked.

"I'm sure he's suspected for a long time that we're working behind his back. At this point denying it on my part is just perfunctory."

As Alana moved over to the door to work on the lock, Will tried to think back to the moment when he went against his own promise not to get her involved in this. He could tell that she was still adjusting to the idea that her friend wasn't what he appeared to be, and now Will was asking her to commit a felony by breaking into an office. But despite how rude Hannibal would find the gesture, he wouldn't notify the authorities on her, Will was sure. He tried to rationalize it that they were doing this because they had no choice and that keeping her in the dark about Hannibal being the Chesapeake Ripper was keeping her safe. But the thought still did little to ease Will's guilt.

Small clinks came from the lock every so often, and Will checked his watch every time they did. Time slowed to a crawl and, absurdly, he was tempted to say something and hope the chit-chat would alleviate his uneasiness. But Alana seemed lost in concentration, so he said nothing, content to just watch the hallway.

Almost an hour later, a familiar click sent echoes bounding against the walls. And any boredom or frustration Will might have felt, dissipated as Alana pushed the door open. They wordlessly stepped inside.

Will had always found the office ominous to some extent because of the sheer size of it, and now, sunk in complete darkness, the feeling amplified. He trailed his hand over a wall until he felt a switch.

The light revealed the office to be just as pristine as it always was. Books and papers were tucked into their designated bookcase, the curtains hung neatly, and the floor seemed untouched. Even the windows looked clean. Will couldn't understand how he hadn't realized before how eerie this obsessive attention to detail was.

"I don't suppose he ever told you where he keeps the patient records?" he asked.

Alana shook her head while still gazing around the large office. "And now that I think about it, he doesn't seem like the type of doctor to keep them at all."

Will hoped that Hannibal's fixation with order meant he did. They decided to go their separate ways in order to cover more ground.

The attention to detail and organizing proved to be useful in quickly making their way around the office. Will passed several bookcases filled only be medical books, then one more staked with psychology journals. He stopped when he noticed a few files placed at the end of the bookcase.

After picking one up and opening it, Will frowned. It was filled by dozens of drawings, most of them rather well done, he hated to admit. The landscapes were especially impressive, but what he couldn't shake was the eerie feeling he was getting from the drawings. He kept leafing through them, if anything because his curiosity was getting the better of him.

He was about to close the file to place back where he had found it when something caught his eye. He leafed over a few more papers until he saw what he had caught a glimpse of. A drawing of The Wound Man.

The image of an old and almost long forgotten victim conjured in his mind, one that looked just like in the drawing. And if Will had been rifling through someone else's office, then he would chalk this off as a coincidence. But the morbid coincidences that surrounded his old psychiatrist were beginning to become a bit too many. He paused with the drawing in his hand, wondering if he should take it. If Hannibal found it missing, he would become angry, but leaving it meant that it could be destroyed if or when the need to get rid of anything suspicious arose.

In the end, it was safer to take it with him. Will carefully folded it and placed it in his pocket.

"I found something" Alana's voice came a few feet away. He rushed over and found her with several books and papers opened on the floor. She was holding a small black book filled with neat handwriting.

"He either doesn't have or keep the records here, but look at this."

She handed the book over, and Will glanced at the contents. It was entirely filled by dates, times, and names. It had to be the schedule Hannibal kept of all the patients that had passed through his office. And on the page Alana showed him, there was a name. W. Hurley.

"That's him" Will said, "he has sessions dated spring 2011 and all the way through summer."

And that was all he needed, the one detail that undeniably connected him to Hannibal.

"I don't think it's enough to sway Jack, but at least it's something" Alana said, placing the scattered books back where they had been.

Will kept leafing through the book as he shook his head. "We can't tell Jack anything right now because he'd only fixate on the breaking and entering. And getting you involved in all this."

"So we're supposed to do nothing?"

"We need to gather enough evidence until it supersedes the methods we used to acquire the proof."

Alana thought for a second until she said, "Or we could just hand the evidence over to another agent. One who's desperate to have the chance to solve a notorious case and add it to his name."

Will found himself considering the idea for a brief moment, but he knew this scenario couldn't happen. "I can't do that. Jack was the one who got me out of prison and stressed over this case. He deserves to know the truth first."

"You think you owe it to him" Alana asked, slightly frowning. "After all the problems he's caused you. After he arrested you."

"I think he was doing what he believed was right. And meant well, in his own heart at least. He's just not very good with people. And I think I can sympathize with that."

She shook her head at his words and even let out a little smile of disbelief. "All right. But we need to have a serious talk about the right way to deal with manipulative father figures. When all of this is over, I mean."

"I'd rather not think about that" he said "because this can only be over with someone behind bars. And I don't want it to be me. And I know there's still a part of you that doesn't want it to be him."

-o-

She wasn't sure exactly what Will had decided to do for the rest of the day, but Alana heard him mumble something about taking the drawing, book, and the recorder filled with sessions and burying them in a box somewhere in the field around his house.

Her initial reaction was to gently remind him that this could all be easily solved by going to another agent, but she had decided against it. No matter what anyone said or thought, this was Will's battle. And he deserved to do things his way.

The following day, Alana spent it returning to her office and chatting with her patients. She still felt slightly uneasy after the previous night, so she welcomed the idea of filling an entire day focusing about other people's problems.

By the time the sun set late into the evening, Alana found herself exhausted. Once her last patient set off, she turned to her desk that had been piling for several days with paperwork. And as much as she wanted to keep avoiding the growing tower, she had to admit it was becoming an eyesore. After a sigh, she settled at her desk with a cup of coffee and began disentangling the mess of papers.

After a few hours, Alana settled into a comfortable state of focus, one that blinded her to the soft noises coming from the building. Which is why she practically jumped off the seat when there was a polite knock at her open door.

"May I come in?" Hannibal asked, who despite what she expected, looked as calm as he always did.

Alana simply nodded, and when he stepped inside, she noted that he left the door open. The gesture helped her relax a bit.

If the office lock that she had broken the night before annoyed him, then he showed absolutely no sign of it. Hannibal had a tendency to never show much emotion, but the two bottles of beer he was carrying seemed to drive home the apparent idea that he wasn't upset. But Alana refused to believe that everything was as rosy colored as he made it out to be.

"I heard you were staying up late with patients today so I thought you would like something to help you de-stress" he said, handing her one of the bottles.

Alana tentatively took the bottle and tried not to look too conspicuous as she looked to see if the cap hadn't been tampered with.

When she noticed that Hannibal held onto the other bottle, she smiled slightly. "You suddenly had a change of heart and learned to love beer?"

"A drink with a friend comes before any reservations I have with commercially produced beer."

Alana hated to admit it, but she missed talking to him and poking fun at his tastes. If she tried hard enough she could almost feel herself go back to a time when everything was all right and she held no doubts regarding him.

"I've missed your presence at the dinner table these past few weeks" Hannibal said, as he grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk. Alana tensed when he did, but soon realized he was using them to quickly open the bottles.

"I don't really have time for anything these days" she said "I've just been swamped lately."

"So is Jack, but he managed to attend one of my dinners a few days ago."

"I guess we can't all be the multifunctional machine that Jack Crawford is."

Hannibal's expression softened a fraction. "I don't intend to make you feel guilty, Alana, I'm simply worried about you."

"Well your concern is noted and appreciated" she said with a practiced smile that even surprised her. "But I should really get going home now. It's pretty late."

Hannibal glanced over to the papers of her desk. "By the looks of it, you were busy tackling the large amount of paperwork that has piled on your desk."

"It's better if I leave it for over the weekend now that I think about it. No point in frying my brains with pointless forms."

"Then indulge me in a drink and conversation instead?" he said, gesturing at the bottle that was still untouched.

She was still left skeptical by his good intentions, but had to admit that she couldn't think of that many scenarios where something bad could happen. There were still plenty of people in the building that milled around and could rush into the office the second she screamed or even raised her voice. And the door was still wide open. Even Hannibal wouldn't be able to do something suspicious in that situation.

In the end, Alana decided that spending a few minutes chit-chatting wouldn't be the end of the world. She grabbed the bottle.

"To old friends" Hannibal said, raising his own.

Alana smiled reluctantly. "To old friends."

The beer wasn't bad and the conversation took her back to the old days when she had barely started her practice and would call him in a panic state to ask for advice regarding a troublesome patient. And if she hadn't known better, Alana could swear that there was no need to feel tense and that she was just talking to an old friend.

There had always been a sense of tension in the room, one that sent her nerve endings almost prickling. But the foreboding feeling only settled in full force when her head started to spin and she began to hear echoes. Alana heard the door close as her head landed on the surface of the desk.


	14. Sunrise

**A/N**: Just a bit of a heads-up that this is the last chapter. Happy reading!

* * *

The weather had mercifully warmed up, replacing the unseasonable cold with rain. But the change did little to ease Will's nerves.

He sat at a table in the local library, surrounded by old papers, struggling to find anything pertaining to the man Hannibal had admitted to killing during his years as a surgeon. Even if it had never been considered a murder, he wasn't about to relent. There had to be something, anything to show that Hannibal wasn't the innocent man Jack thought him to be.

But after hours of searching with nothing to show for, Will sat back in his chair and tried to think. He was worrying himself sick over everything and nothing, as he often did whenever he was alone. But worry was good. Worry meant he was still alert and not letting himself fall into a false sense of security.

Will had buried all the evidence he had on Hannibal – the recorder, sketch, the schedule book connecting Hurley to him - all in a box, sixteen paces away from his house. And this sudden lack of anything tangential to look over or even hold in his hands was making him nervous. There was a certain finality to it. One which ensured him that he was so close to ending this.

But plenty of time would still need to pass before he could relax again.

He thought back to Jack and the team and wondered if, like him, they were also being driven up the wall by the lack of any new developments. Will also speculated that Alana must have been neck-deep in paper work. She hadn't called since they had broken into the office almost two days before, but that was hardly out of the ordinary. The two of them never really kept in close touch in the first place.

But Will kept his phone nearby all the same. And when it began to ring a few minutes later, he was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice on the other line.

"Yeah, hi, is your name Will Graham?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Hal Bailey with Animal Control. We got a complaint a few hours ago about Alana Bloom's dogs barking all day today and yesterday night, and the neighbors called us. Apparently, she hasn't been home for quite some time. Anyway, the proper procedure here is to call the cops and let them handle this mess, but most of the neighbors really like Ms. Bloom, so they told us to call you instead and avoid all the trouble. Said something about how you could take care of this."

Will sat up in his chair. "Wait, she hasn't been home lately?"

"Apparently."

"Why? What happened?"

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. All I know is that I've got seven barking dogs that are causing a whole lot of neighbors to complain. So can you help us here or not?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

He scrambled to grab his jacket and secured his gun before taking off.

The fact that Alana hadn't been home lately was definitely a sign that Hannibal had caught onto them. But Will still had to believe that he wouldn't hurt her. They were old friends and killing someone you had a history with had to be difficult.

A part of him refused to believe this, but he tried to ignore that voice. The fact that she was only missing and not discovered somewhere as an artistically grisly tableau gave him some sense of hope.

While on-route, he attempted to call Jack. As strained as their relationship had become, he knew there weren't that many people he could rely on. But calling him that soon turned fruitless. He wasn't answering.

As Will went through the people in his small contact list, he realized that he lacked many options. But there was no way around it. He had no choice but to rely on the team who was still apprehensive and suspicious around him.

A tired sounding Beverly answered. "Yes?"

"It's Will. I need your help."

"Sure, but unless this is about one of the cases there isn't a lot we can do. Jack is keeping us on a pretty tight leash right now."

"Alana is missing. I'm heading for her house right now."

A moment passed on the other line. "We'll meet you there."

"I tried calling Jack, but he's not answering."

"He's out chasing dead-end leads and dropping by every suspicious crime scene that the police are getting." Beverly sighed in frustration. "The stress of these cases has been weighing a lot on him lately, and I think it's just reached the boiling point."

"And what's worse is that he's taking it out on us" someone next to her said. Will recognized the voice of Jimmy Price.

Will made a mental note to try and talk to him, even though he knew it would prove worthless. A man like Jack Crawford simply shut out everyone around him when he fixated on something. He had good intentions, and the damage he was causing simply didn't occur to him until it was too late.

The drive to Alana's home set his nerves on edge. Even if he knew there was most likely no clues to be found, the thought of seeing her house empty and the neighbors gathered in confusion made him anxious.

He didn't even have to keep an eye out for the street number and houses because the barking of dogs guided him.

Will quickly got out of the car and headed towards the two of Animal Control officers who were unsuccessfully attempting to keep the pets calm.

"Finally" Bailey said, sounding exhausted, "we were beginning to think you'd never show. One of Ms. Bloom's neighbors had a spare key and fed them a couple of minutes ago. And judging by how they were eating, it's safe to say your friend hasn't been home for a few days.

Will looked at her empty home as he took the leashes from the man.

"So will you be able to take care of them until she comes back?" Bailey asked.

"We'll be all right. And thank you for the call."

As the two men went on their way, Will did his best to calm down the dogs. But they seemed too excited to stay put. So he brought them inside the house and let them off their leashes in the back yard, hoping that their enthusiasm and energy would wear off after a chase or two.

Will felt completely out of place standing in Alana's home. He was used to stepping into crime scenes with a body that required his reconstruction, but standing in an empty house gave him nothing. Still, he took a look around.

There didn't seem to be anything disturbed, no more than the usual slight mess of dishes in the sink and clothes thrown about on the sofa. But nothing to suggest she had been ambushed and taken away. He inspected the living room and then went upstairs, but Alana's laptop was nowhere to be found. Which meant she still had it with her when she disappeared. Most likely somewhere on the route between her office and home.

The creak of the front door alerted Will that someone had stepped inside. The three scientists walked inside.

"Thanks for coming" Will said.

"Did you find anything?" Beverly asked. "Because the neighbors don't seem to know what happened."

Will shook his head. "What about the people at her office?"

"She had eight patients scheduled for a consult these past two days. None of them know anything and they haven't received any call regarding a cancellation."

"And what about Dr. Lecter?"

"He's in the middle of a session and we couldn't reach him" Brian said.

Of course he was conveniently busy. Will took a breath. "Then I'll have to walk right into his office."

He tried walking through the front door, but the three didn't move out of his way.

"We can't let you" Jimmy said.

"Why?"

Beverly extended her right hand. "Will, please hand over your gun."

And that's when Will realized that he had made a mistake. In his blind rush to reach Alana's home, Will had failed to realize that the bubble of freedom that Jack offered him wasn't supposed to be known by anyone else. Especially not the team who worked for the FBI and knew he had to be kept under surveillance.

And now he had shown up with a gun he wasn't allowed to carry and without a single officer to keep watch of him.

There was no point in resisting. Will handed over his gun.

The three lead him outside where a few men in uniform were finishing up asking the neighbors questions. And as the officers crowded around him, Will knew there wasn't any excuse he could come up with that could get him out of the situation.

-o-

He was back at the headquarters, the building swarming with agents, but Will was at least grateful that he wasn't in handcuffs or thrown back into a cell. He also wasn't sure what the team planned for him, so he tried to stay out of their way as they made phone calls and went through papers.

Brian looked at the others with a knowing glance before saying, "I think you both can agree that this is what seals it."

Will frowned. "Seals what?"

None of the three looked as if they wanted to explain.

"We talked about this a few days ago" Brian went on, "and we came to an agreement that Jack needs to step back and we have to be reassigned to someone else."

"Why?"

"Most recently because the man let a convicted serial killer step out into the world without constant surveillance."

Will fell quiet, the weight of the words settling in his head.

"He's burned up and not thinking straight. For the past week he's had us stay up after 3AM to go through the same evidence we've considered over half a dozen times. And when he's not with us, or out at a crime scene rambling about how we must be missing something, he's off drinking somewhere."

"Which we'd understand" Jimmy said a bit more quietly "if he'd come to work completely sober."

So Jack was under stress and losing it, and here was the rest of the team simply stepping away instead of helping him.

"You're going against him?" Will asked in disbelief.

"We're not telling the Bureau that he let you loose. Despite what you might believe, we don't want him fired. But we have to come clean about everything else."

Beverly nodded. "He'll probably be suspended for a while. It'll give him a chance to reassess his situation."

"His wife is sick and he's pressured to catch two serial killers" Will said "You can't expect him to keep a level head all the time."

"He's endangering everyone with his choices. We're just trying to get things back on track."

"And Alana?" Will asked. "By the time you'll finish going through technicalities, she'll be dead. If she isn't already."

"We have the police helping us out until we can sort this out. But even then..."

"The first twenty four hours are critical and she's been missing for two days" Will said, completing the thought.

"We're not giving up. But right now things don't look too optimistic."

The door to the examination room opened and a young man leaned in to hand Brian a file. He thanked him before looking through the pages.

"So Dr. Lecter still isn't answering his phone" Brian said, "and according to the patients he had lined up for today, he hasn't even shown up for work at all."

Will's stomach clenched.

"We'll send a few people to his office and see what's going on."

"What about the other calls we talked about?" Beverly asked.

"Well I managed to get hold of the phone numbers of Dr. Bloom's brothers" Brian said, looking through the list of names. "And she sure has a lot of them."

"Need any help?" Jimmy asked.

"You're an expert on fingerprints, remember?"

"So? How hard can it be to ask a few questions?"

Het thought for a moment before answering. "All right, but if Jack hears about this, I'll pulling a Nixon and denying everything."

Once the two left and closed the door behind them, Will looked up to see Beverly still standing in the middle of the room.

"You're staying behind to watch me" he said. It wasn't a question, but Will tried to make it sound like one. Because there was still a grain of hope floating around, and if he was lucky enough, maybe he could catch it.

"Sorry" Beverly said, pulling up a chair.

He stared at the table between them for a moment, plucking various thoughts and speeches that resided somewhere in his memories. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Beverly cut him off.

"I can't let you go, Will. I can't afford to lose my job, even for a friend. I'm sorry."

What threw him off was how sincere she sounded. The Beverly he knew stoically endured everything the world could throw at her, but now she genuinely looked rattled. And it wasn't just because one of her colleagues had disappeared.

It was because the man that the entire team looked up to and called their boss had spun out of control. He had went from someone you could trust with your life to a man who was burned out. And it didn't look like there was a way to fix it.

"If it counts for anything" she said, "I didn't want to tell on Jack about anything. But I was out-voted."

Will felt like he was so close to the end of the line, but there was still an entire building of agents standing in the way. But despite the fact that he had never felt neither comfortable nor skilled trying to talk his way out of a situation, he realized that there was no other option. He had to give it a try, even if it was out of desperation.

"I broke into Dr. Lecter's office two days ago."

Beverly's gaze fixed on him, but she said nothing.

"I found a way to connect him to Hurley, and one of the Chesapeake Ripper victims."

"And you kept this to yourself."

"If I told anyone about it, all you would have seen was a convicted criminal who broke into his psychiatrist's office. I needed more time to find other proof. But evidently it won't be able to do that."

"You know I'd like to help you. But we have to do things a certain way here, and letting someone like you go just isn't an option."

Will looked past her, staring at the walls. "I'm going back to prison in a few days. If not sooner."

She frowned. "I don't remember Jack telling you anything about that."

A bitter smile appeared. "It's not hard to guess. It's been some time since there's been a proper crime scene for me to reconstruct. As far as the FBI is concerned, I'm of no use to them anymore. If nothing new will show up on the horizon, then the case will go cold. There's no point for me to be here anymore."

Beverly averted her gaze. "I'm sorry."

She sounded genuinely sad to see him go back, and Will had to make a conscious effort to push the thought of using it for his benefit. Manipulating the grief someone felt was easy, but it was the sort of thing Hannibal would do, not him.

And yet.

He was stuck in a building he couldn't simply run out of without being tackled or shot. And his friend was missing because of him. No matter how vile the thought was, he had to try and take advantage of the sadness she was feeling.

"Beverly" he said, changing his tone slightly. "I know that there's still uncertainty in your mind about whether Dr. Lecter really framed me, but I can tell you that the reason Alana is missing is because of me. I'm not sure exactly what message he's trying to send me, but whatever it is, I need to find him, and I need to find Alana."

"You think you'll be able to do what the FBI and police can't?"

"Dr. Lecter isn't interested in random officers and agents. That's why you won't be able to find where he is. He's purposefully avoiding you, so going with a whole team after him won't solve anything. For whatever reason, he's only interested in me. And that's why it's better that I go alone."

There was still hesitation in her eyes.

"I'm not asking you to believe me" he said, "all I want is a few hours to find my friend." He paused. "Whatever's left of her, at least..."

When no answer from Beverly came, Will fell quiet, listening how the arrhythmic sound of footsteps throughout the building filled the silence. He tried hard not to think that he was asking Beverly to endanger her job for him.

"Two hours" she said eventually. "That's all I can give you."

He pressed his lips together in an attempt to hide the surprise he was feeling. "Thank you" he said, hoping it sounded sincere.

"You'll need to follow me" she said, stepping away from the table to fish for some keys from her pocket. "Going out the front of the headquarters is a sure-fire way to get both of us in trouble."

She led him through a maze of corridors and small offices that Will had never seen before. Luckily, most of them were either empty or peppered with new recruits. Beverly kept rushing through the building, and he soon found it hard to keep up with her quick pace. In only a few swift turns he felt decidedly lost, but one minute later she stopped before a steel door. She unlocked and then pushed it open. The early evening light flooded through it.

"Here" she said, holding out his car keys. "Your gun was taken away by the other agents."

Will nodded and looked out towards his car. Before he distanced himself from the building, Beverly called out to him one last time.

"Don't die, all right?" she said, "I know it's a stupid thing to say when you're going out there without a weapon, but still. Be careful."

"I will" he said, finding a smile appearing on his lips. "And thanks."

"Good luck. Now get going."

He made his way towards the car and placed the keys in the ignition. He drove off and headed towards Hannibal's home.

A few agents were heading for his office, but they wouldn't find anything there. Hannibal was too smart to leave anything of importance in his office after he had broken into it. Will tightened his hands on the steering wheel and tried to think. What was Hannibal's end game? And where did his old patient Hurley fit into it?

When no ideas made sense, Will quickly realized that he was thinking wrong. He had been considering things from the point of view of his old psychiatrist.

And he had to think like the Chesapeake Ripper.

If Hannibal was trying to kill Hurley, then he would need somewhere isolated. Somewhere quiet. He thought back to the last victims they had unearthed, in a forest not to far away from Wolf Trap. And then things connected in his head.

Hannibal wasn't leading him anywhere. He didn't need to. Because Will's secluded home made for the perfect place for a crime.

And before he became aware of it, Will had already change courses and was already on his way back home.

The last remnants of the evening light were barely visible when Will pulled the car into his drive way. With the dogs still at Alana's home under the care of a neighbor, the entire lot seemed vacant. The rustling of trees was the only sound breaking the eerie silence that had fallen.

Will killed the engine and stepped out of the car, surveying his surroundings. Despite the impending darkness he could tell there was a car parked a few yards away. He didn't recognize whose it was.

He stopped to grab the cell phone from his pocket, and then dialed Jack's number. As expected, it went straight to voice mail.

"Jack, it's me" Will said, "I know you're off somewhere being busy, so by the time you get to your phone this will probably be all over. Actually, I'm banking on that. Because there's someone in my house, I'm guessing whoever took Alana, and if I would have brought the authorities here, then I could have scared him away. So once you listen to this message I want you to send the team over. I'm not sure what you'll find, but whatever it is... it won't be good. I just want you to know that there's a box buried sixteen paces West from the shortest tree in my back yard. You'll find all you need in there."

He followed the trail up to his porch, thinking that it was ridiculous that he was walking inside without any kind of weapon. He could have looked around for a two-by-four, but there was no point. You didn't bring a knife to a gun fight, and taking someone like the Chesapeake Ripper by surprise with a piece of lumber wasn't a scenario that could ever take place.

The steps up to the porch creaked under his weight, announcing his presence to anyone that was inside. And evidently there was, because the window next to the front door had been smashed.

Will stopped before the font door, a thought popping in his head. Hannibal wasn't the type of man to vandalize a house like this. He would have found an elegant way inside or simply waited for him nearby.

Will placed a hand on the front door and pushed.

The living room was dark. But he could tell someone was inside and sitting on the sofa. When Will switched on the lights, Hurley came into view.

There were deep dark circles around his eyes, and his movements were rattled. He looked pale and sickly, as if he had the flu. But he didn't look surprised to be discovered. Will suspected that was because of the gun in his right hand.

"I thought you'd be home earlier" Hurley said, rising from the sofa. "I've been here all day."

"Did Lecter send you here?"

"Funny enough, he actually warned me away from here. I'm not sure why. Because here you are stepping into a dark room with your holster empty."

Will failed to understand why Hurley wasn't aiming the gun his way. If anything, he seemed exhausted, as if he had already been in an altercation.

"He made you kill her, didn't he?" Will asked, his eyes fixed on the weapon.

"Lecter can't make me do things I don't want. Not anymore."

But the idea that Alana was still alive was too optimistic for Will. "Then why are you here?" he asked "What do you want?"

The man walked toward him, causing Will to step back. He froze the moment Hurley took the gun and held it towards him by the muzzle.

"What I want" Hurley said, "is for you to kill me."

Will's gaze froze, his head trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"He's manipulating you" Will said, "I don't know how, but you can't listen to him, you can't let him telling you-"

"Lecter didn't tell me anything." Hurley sighed and shook his head. "Mr. Graham, two years ago I lost my son, and ever since then things have never stopped crumbling and falling apart. My wife left me after she heard what my shrink had to say. My family believed him too and they ostracized me. They cut ties with me, every last one of them. I thought the money I had left could fill the void, but..." He shook his head again and looked at Will. "I'm not me anymore, Mr. Graham. The man standing in front of you right now is just a shadow of who he used to be."

Will took another step away. "I'm not killing you. But what you can do is turn yourself in to the police."

"And what good will that do? I know what I did. They know what I did. I'll confess, and they'll drag me though an endless trial that will end with me in a cell. I'll amount to nothing but a filled space. But if you kill me, this whole nightmare will be over in the blink of an eye. I'll be at peace, and you can simply bury me and get rid of any traces that I was ever here."

"Why me?" Will asked.

"You're a man of morals. You've been dragged down by one of the worst man I've ever met, but here you are. Still fighting. Still doing what's right. If there has to be someone to put a bullet in my skull, I would want it to be someone like you.

Hurley's arm was still outstretched, holding the gun forward, and Will found that he couldn't take his eyes off the floor. Because if he did, then he'd have to look into the face of someone whose life had been destroyed by Hannibal. And Will was scared that Hurley's face would end up looking very similar to his own if he looked too hard.

Will's voice had fallen soft as he asked the question that was on his mind. "Why didn't you just..?"

"Shoot myself?" Hurley grimaced. "I did." He shook his head for a fraction, his eyes becoming a bit wet. He then lowered the gun and used his other hand to slightly raise the left side of his shirt. An ugly wound resided under his ribs. "By all rights I should be dead by now, shouldn't? But I'm not. All I can think right now is that, if there's a God out there somewhere, He's telling me that this isn't the way I'm supposed to leave the world."

Will didn't know what to say in such an unprecedented situation. He simply anchored his eyesight away from the gun, and Hurley, trying his best to come up with something coherent to say.

"Please" Hurley said, outstretching is armed hand again.

But no matter how many times he thought it over, Will simply couldn't see himself doing it. He shook his head.

A gunshot ripped through the air behind Hurley, and in the blink of an eye, his expression changed from one of sadness, to complete calm. The serenity on his face remained, even as he toppled over.

Will scrambled to grab the gun that had fallen to the floor. Once he found it, he aimed it forwards. Hannibal walked into view with a purposeful stride.

"Firearms are so impersonal" he said, taking steps closer to Hurley's body. "One pull of the trigger and everything ends quickly."

There was no point in talking and falling into whatever mind games he had in store. And he wasn't about to waste yet another opportunity as he did back in Minnesota. Will simply took aim at Hannibal's head, and pulled the trigger.

A muffled click followed.

"Mr. Hurley stole that pistol from me before he left my home" Hannibal said. "I suppose I should have told him that it only had one bullet in the chamber. Which I can only determine he's already used."

Will let the useless gun fall limply by his side. "He wanted me to kill him."

"I figured as much. It would have been most entertaining if you would have done it. But I know that no amount of convincing could make you relent."

A small pause passed between them. Will couldn't help but look at the blood pooling on his living room floor.

"What did you do to Alana?" Will asked.

"Rest assured that she is still very much alive."

Will didn't want to believe him at first. But Hannibal wouldn't have a reason to blatantly lie about that when he was about to shoot him.

"Why?" Will asked. Because maybe, just maybe, there was a human being in the world that meant something to Hannibal.

"Because her death would mean I could no longer have someone I can use to manipulate you."

Will's hopes sank.

"I was impressed how you managed to convince her to break into my office" Hannibal said, taking a few more steps.

"How do you know it wasn't me who broke in?"

"You wouldn't have risked picking a lock unless you were absolutely certain you could do it without leaving a trace. Alana was careful but she still left plenty of clues regarding the tampering. She can be more determined than you. But also more reckless."

As Hannibal kept taking steps around his living room, Will struggled to formulate a plan in his head. He was close to the front door, but a quick dash would only result in him being shot.

"You took one of my sketches" Hannibal said, disrupting his thoughts. "I would like it back."

"I think it's safe to say that it's evidence now."

"Something can't be called evidence if it doesn't prove something."

"It links you to one of the Chesapeake Ripper's murders."

"A piece of paper with a drawing on it is hardly proper evidence to be taken into consideration."

He was right, of course. Showing Jack only a sketch wouldn't be enough to convince him, especially when the memory of the case still weighed heavy on him.

Will looked at Hannibal. "What does it feel like? Pretending to be Jack's friend when you killed his protégée?"

Hannibal glanced to his right for a moment, searching for a memory. "She was a perceptive young woman. Would have certainly become a very competent agent." He paused. "I almost felt sorry for her."

"What about Jack?"

"He was hot-headed and overconfident. Always thinking no one could shake the pedestal his students placed him on."

"So that's why you killed her? You wanted to shake his confidence?"

"I also had to protect myself from nosy protégées. Having people around who know too much can be a problem."

"If that's true, then why haven't you killed me yet?"

The smile that came over his face was so subtle that Will had almost missed it. "I think our friendship has potential for something interesting in the long run."

"Framing me isn't interesting enough?"

"I've always considered the possibility of being found out and captured. Someone who can reach the conclusion by finding clues, gathering bits and pieces and making sense of them. But you have yet to do so. You've simply stumbled into this situation because of chance, and I believe I should offer you one more opportunity to do it properly. Provided you can live long enough."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you will be reduced to a name on a list of men and women who have tried and failed."

"Like Freddie Lounds."

"Determination doesn't equal competency. A nuisance doesn't even deserve to be remembered."

Will took a few more steps away as Hannibal crossed the living room. With Hurley's body in the middle of the room they were circling each other. Will hoped he could keep it up long enough until Jack and the team would arrive.

"What about Dr. Vogler?" Will asked "Was he a nuisance too?"

"That man would have gotten himself killed sooner or later. His rudeness was unbecoming. I merely stepped in to do what had to be done."

"So that's it? Someone's a little rude and you sneak behind them to snap their neck. You think that's a fair criteria to judge people?"

"Discourtesy is passive aggressive. It suggests that the person isn't brave enough to act on the aggression he feels and yet does not want to let go of the bitterness. An indecisive individual adds nothing to the workings of society."

Will shook his head slightly. "You're not god, Dr. Lecter. You can't decide who lives or dies."

"We live in an age of disasters and chaos, Will. Our god as been absent for a long, long time."

Will had hoped that Hannibal's earlier comment regarding his distaste for fire arms would work in his favor. But the thought disappeared the moment the gun was trained on his arm. Will wasn't sure how, but the next thing he knew, he was staring at his ceiling as pain was erupting from his arm. He felt frozen by the pain, stuck in a loop where he couldn't see anything except the light trailing in front of his eyes.

But then his field of vision was invaded by Hannibal. And the gun in his hand had been replaced by a knife.

"I was hoping I could give this back to Mr. Hurley" he said, "but I suppose you could do that for me."

The knife went up and then Will heard a crunching sound in his left arm. The pain failed to register in his head as Will was too focused on the heartbeat he was feeling in his other arm. He watched with surreal fascination as the knife passed through the skin, bone and muscle of the shoulder, and was impaled into the wooden floor beneath him.

"Make sure to say hello to Alana soon" Hannibal said, when he was out of view. "I believe it's not healthy to be trapped in a fog state for too long."

The room soon fell in silence, and Hannibal's footsteps began to sound distant even when Will strained to listen. He was eventually left with nothing but the pulsating sound of his own heartbeat and the pain in his arms that was slowly but surely beginning to overwrite the adrenaline.

-o-

He adopted another stray. But it didn't surprise him. Because it looked like whenever the horrors invaded his head, he relied on the dogs. And now that the last particular horror had left him with a broken arm, a wounded shoulder, an escaped serial killed, and a friend who refused to talk to him, Will realized that seven dogs were simply not enough anymore.

Which is why he now had eight food bowls to fill. Will wondered how long it would take before his house would be filled with nothing but beds and bags of dog food.

The logical side of him told him that he should move. Somewhere far away. There was little good that still tied him to Wolf Trap anymore, and a change of scenery would do him good. Maybe somewhere a bit more sunny, close to beach.

Will still hadn't completely gotten over the wave of nausea he felt whenever he tried to eat something. It was a gradual thing. And on the night that celebrated a week since his discharge from the hospital, Will decided he should try and actually eat a proper meal.

But once the dogs began to whine and beg to be let outside, he had to relent and he went outside along with them with nothing but a sad looking sandwich on a plate.

As he sat on the porch to eat, Will heard the distinctive sound of a Jack's car.

The dogs gathered around the vehicle once the engine went silent, and Jack exited. Now that he was back being the Special Agent-in-Charge, Jack seemed different somehow. Not happier, but more determined.

As he made his way towards the house, Will could tell that Jack was looking at the sling holding his right arm, and the constant trembling of his left. But he seemed to make a conscious effort not to look upset by the sight. Will was glad. After days of frowns from the nurses, he had his fill of pity.

"How's the arm?" Jack asked once he reached the steps.

Which one? Will wanted to ask, but he resorted to simply saying "Fine".

"Alana Bloom hasn't picked up her phone at all this past week."

"I know. I don't think she'll want to talk to us for a while."

Jack settled in a deck chair next to Will. "I know she was stuck in a drug-addled fog for a few days, but I don't understand how that warrants a sudden need to drop off the grid."

"I don't think that's why she's upset" Will said, suddenly finding his sandwich inedible. "It may the fact that one of her dear colleagues turned out to be a notorious serial killer. And that he dropped by my house to shoot one of his old patients and then try to mutilate me. And that he used to feed us human meat. Not that being drugged and left completely vulnerable wouldn't upset her."

"And now she feels guilty for the whole thing just because she's the one who referred Dr. Lecter in the first place." If Jack was the kind of man who rolled his eyes, then he would have. But he settled for a shake of the head.

"I certainly would."

"Well you have an excuse to feel that way. But she's a doctor who should know better."

Will frowned. "Why are you so fixated on Alana talking to you all of a sudden?"

"We just lost one of the best consulting psychiatrists. I need to know if she can take his place or not."

Of course Jack could only think about his department and the future cases. Because looking back meant giving into guilt and feeling upset about the mess that had taken place. And about the irreversible situation his wife was in. For Jack, there was only one way he could function. If he kept his eyes forward.

And the more Will thought about it, the more it made sense. Because there he was, stuck in a moment that still sent him waking up in a sweat, and Jack was already looking ahead and ready to tackle the next big case, ready to help people. It made all the sense in the world to follow Jack and keep doing what he was good at.

Because Will didn't have an excuse to opt out. He didn't have a dying wife and he had escaped his own nightmare with only a broken arm and a bad shoulder. And while injuries could be fixed, people dying at the hands of others could not.

"We've already received a few cases. Some of them badly tangled up" Jack said, as if sensing his thoughts. He then looked at Will expectantly.

And there it was. The time to dust himself off and keep going, or cower away in his home. And there were so many objective reasons pointed him towards going forward along with Jack.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"My arm is broken" Will said. "My shoulder feels shattered. I can barely eat, and it takes a case full of pills just so I can get a few hours of sleep."

Jack frowned slightly. "That hasn't stopped you before."

"I know. But this is different."

"How?"

"This time I don't want to come back."

Disappointment painted Jack's face. "You know I don't want to guilt-trip you into this."

"But you're going to try."

Jack waited for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to find the right words to sway him. Will expected a speech or sorts. Which is why he was surprised when Jack simply said, "You save lives."

It was so laconic, and that was why it worked so well. Because Jack was right. He was turning his back on people and hiding because he was scared. And any other day, Will would have folded right there and then. But this time he had to be selfish and think about his own situation.

"Other people save lives too" Will said.

"Not as good as you. Or as fast."

"I'm not some special little snowflake, Jack. What I do can be done by other people, just using different skills." He paused to look out into the field. "Sometimes I think that everything I do relies on luck. And I think mine ran out a week ago."

The silence that followed made Will feel nervous because Jack was only quiet when he was planning something. He could see him pushing on the guilt card until it would be too much to resist, and Will would just agree to come back on the team.

"All right" Jack said.

Will wasn't sure he had heard that right. "_All right_? You're not going to fight me on this?"

"I don't have to. In a few days you'll realize that you're wasting your time and skills teaching a gaggle of students that aren't even sure if they want to work in law enforcement. That's not your place. You belong with the team."

"I think the only place I really belong is here" Will said, glancing at the dogs running across the filed. "With them."

"One of these days you'll have to stop hiding from people."

"Dealing with people isn't my strongest suit. Especially when they hate me."

"You think that matters? Nobody likes anybody in there."

Will raised an eyebrow. "They like _you_."

"They respect me. That's different."

Will had to agree that he had a point.

"Just think on it" Jack said.

The next few minutes were spent sitting in companionable silence. Because no matter how much Will wanted to ask how things were back at home and with his wife, he knew that Jack had firmly slammed the door shut on that topic. And it wasn't because he didn't consider him a friend, but because he was scared. And the fact that someone like Jack was scared made Will feel a bit better about the monsters residing in his own head.

"You were right, you know" Jack said, breaking the silence. "We searched his house and found human meat in his freezer."

Will pushed his sandwich further away, feeling the nausea returning full-force.

"He'll be coming back. Not anytime soon, but eventually he'll catch up with us."

Will sat back on his seat. "I know."

"You don't look too worried."

"He's already framed me. Already hurt me both physically and psychologically. Tarnished my reputation. The way I see it... there's not a whole lot he can do to me anymore."

Jack looked out onto the filed. "He's creative. He'll find something."

-o-

It had been quiet some time since he had boarded a train. But the landscape passing by his window was beautiful and the people were quiet, making the trip almost enjoyable.

But there was still a thought that bothered Hannibal. The entire contents of his freezer were back home, abandoned, and most likely soon to be handled by incompetent people who wouldn't know how to properly appreciate what was in front of their noses. All that time he had put into properly storing the meat was wasted.

Still, all was not lost. Even if he had been forced to abandon his home and office, it gave him a chance to spend some time in the home he had bought in Copenhagen so many years ago. If he searched through the information he had meticulously stored in his memories, then he could remember the exact identity he had used when he bought the home. But he'd have plenty of time for that once he reached the city. Until then he could simply sit back and enjoy the scenery.

Once the train arrived in one of the stations, Hannibal turned to look out the window, his eyes following the rain pelting against the glass. And beyond the rain he saw a woman struggling to keep herself dry under her umbrella.

Hannibal leaned over to his side where his bag was, and he retrieved a small book of recipes. He leafed through the pages, every so often glancing back outside at the woman.


End file.
